Scandals One Shot Competition
by quills.parchment
Summary: The stories within are written for the Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Competition. Please check our author page for more information.
1. Cover Page

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Competition**

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 **PROMPT:** The theme this round is Scandals. Your main pairing should include some or all of the elements as defined below:

Scandal - damage to public reputation; public disgrace; dirty little secret.

 **TIME PERIOD:** Any

 **PAIRING:** Any

 **WORD COUNT:** 3,000 minimum - 10,000 maximum

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 **NOTE:** The following works are submissions to the Quills & Parchment facebook group email by individual authors, or author groups. All stories on this profile are works submitted, and are not the work of any one author. Entrants will remain anonymous to all judges and readers until the time of voting is completed. Only the author, their beta, and two moderators are aware of the identities of the writer for each submission.  
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DISCLAIMER:** Any Harry Potter themes, elements, and characters are copyright to J. K. Rowling. The contributing authors are not profiting from their created works.

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 **BETA LOVE:**

The following users (listed alphabetically) contributed as betas on one or more of the stories submitted:

Draggonsandotters, ErisAsceso, IrononMaiden, JadePresley, K_lynne317, MammaWeasley27, MissandMarauder, PhoenixPixie, RooOJoy, starrnobella, tenderheartinablender

 **READERS:** Please read each chapter, leave an appropriate review based on the writer's listed preference, and vote for your favorites in the link in the facebook group! Voting period is from November 10th 2016 - **November 27th 2016 by 8:59 PM EST.**

Happy reading!

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 **CHAPTER INDEX:  
** (Listed in alphabetical order by title)

 **2\. Black Betrothal**

 **3\. Cold**

 **4\. The Contract**

 **5\. A Cruel Intention**

 **6\. Fae Relic**

 **7\. The Fairer Sex**

 **8\. From Ridicule to Romance**

 **9\. The Golden Lady**

 **10\. Her Secret**

 **11\. The History of Magic**

 **12\. Liberosis**

 **13\. Naming Her Secrets**

 **14\. Secret Rendezvous**

 **15\. Snared Senses**

 **16\. The Tale of the Beetle Jar**

 **17\. Undone**


	2. Black Betrothal

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: Black Betrothal**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Triggers: Child Abuse**

 **Warnings: Sexual Content (Slash), Language**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

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 **Black Betrothal**

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"It doesn't matter that you're only seventeen. You are the heir to our house and you will do as you're told."

"Why the bloody hell would I do that? You're trying to marry me off so that you can get another vote on the Wizengamot. What could she possibly do for me?" There was a hand on his arm, but Orion's calming gesture came too late. Instead, the jolt of a stinging hex had him biting the inside of his lip to keep from crying out. Walburga Black was not one to forgive weakness. This, she quite thoroughly taught her eldest son as he fought for independence from everything she had to offer.

"You will accept her engagement. You will marry her. You will do whatever I tell you to do because you are _mine_ , Sirius Black." As he stood there, chin raised in open defiance, she flicked her wand out and down. He didn't hear the spell, but he didn't have to—this one he knew.

The air around him was charged with the electricity of their magic as it burned in his veins, pricked along his skin and left bright red welts up the length of his spine. He shivered, sweat pouring down his brow. A single drop slipped from the edge of his consciousness to the floor. There, it lay in full view of Walburga. She smiled and cast anew. Sirius fell to his knees. It took her nearly ten minutes to break him down. The entire time, they traded glares that would put a Draught of Living Death to shame. When Sirius could take no more, he fell forward, hands splayed before him, head hanging limply between his shoulders.

"Ahhhh. There we are." She stepped forward, dragging her wand across his back as she did. He whimpered only slightly, then clamped his teeth. She reached down to grab his chin, jerking it up so that she stared right into his stony greys. "Such a shame you don't put that fight toward something useful." Her fingers practically tossed his face aside and his body followed the motion. Walburga Black strode from the room with bold, heavy steps.

"Sirius." Orion stepped forward now. "Sirius." No movement came from the young man lying prone on the floor. His father bent down and smoothed some hair away from his sweat-soaked scalp. "Son, you need to go to your room. I'll have one of the elves send something for you. She needs to see you walking." Sirius groaned a bit. As he turned, using to lift himself from the floor, Orion met his eyes. "You did well tonight."

"I shouldn't fucking have to."

"I know, son." He reached out, placed a hand over the one still holding up the shaky frame before him. "I know." He rose and walked out the door opposite his wife.

"You're more defeated than I am." The words came out as a whisper, for his throat refused to give full voice to what it thought was treason. The real question though, was treason to whom?

Sirius spent the rest of the evening practicing various locking charms on his door. When he was sure everyone would be asleep, he threw up every charm he could think of, wrote a note to Regulus and put it in the third drawer on the left, where he knew it would be found before the end of the hols. He unlocked the window, shook his head at how easy it was to get away from the nefarious Walburga Black, and laughed as he cast a cushioning charm before jumping. Upon landing, he set out toward the edge of the property. As the mist of fall wrapped around him, Sirius closed his eyes, shifted wholly into Padfoot and took off into the night.

 **oOoOoOo**

The woods of Potter Manor were filled with more than the sounds of the forest. Several boys shifted uneasily as the moon rose into the sky, though none more than Remus Lupin. While James and Peter played a somewhat reserved game of Exploding Snap by wandlight, their counterpart could not focus. Each time a card crackled and smoke rose from the ashes, Remus's nose twitched. The wolf was trying to overcome him, despite the Wolfsbane, and it was taking everything he had to keep it at bay. It wasn't until James jumped up, exclaiming loudly toward Peter that Remus lost it.

"Would you two just shut the fuck up?"

"What—uh, Moony, are you okay?" James stepped toward him, but halted. Remus's eyes had shifted and he knew better than to approach the wolf. Prongs might be pack, but until the change happened, Remus was too unpredictable.

"I just need some quiet, all right?" One hand lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose, his shoulders hunching. This way, he looked much less the six-foot werewolf and more the swaggering teenager.

"Okay, mate. Pete, put the cards away." James turned toward the shrewish boy, who sat motionless on the ground. Unlike James, he was very much the motionless rat when confrontation brewed amongst his friends. "Peter. Now." This jolted him into action, as James was using his head boy voice. Peter scrambled to gather everything and shoved it into his pockets, burning himself several times on cards that decided to explode on their way in. His robes were letting off steam, but he acted as if nothing was the matter.

"Thank you, James. It has been a very trying day." His eyes were growing greener now as Remus gained control over himself again. James walked up, slowly, allowing the soft, slanting look and the sniff of air as Remus scented subconsciously.

"He'll be here."

"Who'll be here? And why are you sods so bloody quiet?" Sirius walked into the clearing, directly between James and Remus. James watched as Remus clenched his jaw, twitched just once, and opened his eyes to show bright hazel once more. He smirked, but turned back to Peter.

"You, you lazy codswallop. Where have you been?"

"Oh, I don't know. Only being told I'm to be betrothed to the Avery girl." Sirius was now rummaging around in the hollow of a nearby tree, mumbling to himself, so he didn't quite catch what was said in response.

"Yo-mar-hmmph-who?"

"What the hell did you just say?" He looked bewildered when he stepped back, holding a bottle of Ogden's finest in one hand, open and ready for consumption.

"I said, if you would keep your head out of your arse, you're marrying the Avery girl. Who, exactly?"

Sirius took a hearty swig, hissing as he felt the burn settle into his chest before responding. "Charlene. Charlene Avery. I believe she's one year our junior. Slytherin." Another drink. "A proper snake, at that." Remus's eyes grew wide, whereas James merely stared hard at his friend. Peter kept his own counsel. "And wouldn't you know it, The bloody bint's already planned a party to announce it!"

"So you know her then?"

"What?" He snapped his eyes over to Remus. "Who?" As he said the latter, he leaned forward, sloshing a little of the latest sip out of his mouth. Remus looked disgusted.

"The girl. Charlene. You know her?"

"How would I know her, Moony?"

"You just called her a bint. I'm guessing that in order to call a female that, you would have to be acquainted on some level first."

"What the bloody hell are you on about, Moony? I don't know her at all." Now the bottle was swaying dangerously in his hands and his words slurred right along with it. "I called Walburga a bint, and cheers to that!" Remus narrowed his eyes, then looked away.

There was much commiserating as Sirius told them about the upcoming party the following weekend. Remus began moving away from them, but crouched near the edge of the group, nodding every now and then to keep James from dragging him back into the conversation. He could barely keep the wolf in check, let alone deal with teenage drama.

"—tha'ss wha' I'll do! I'll jus' run 'way. None of yeh can stop me." Sirius was sitting with his back against a tree now, having run out of liquor a half hour ago. Peter had continued to ply him for as long as there'd been half-empty bottles to pass around, the occasional, "there's a good lad," enough praise for the shiest Marauder.

James spent his time trying to stay between Sirius and Remus, never letting either one out of his sight. Several times, Remus tried to slink off into the darkness, but James would ask him a question about the conversation and bring him back in, tail between his legs. Sirius was completely oblivious, as self-absorbed as he was at the time.

It was a low, deep-throated growl that alerted them to the passage of time. They hadn't been focusing on the moon and had, instead, been paying more attention to the whinging of their friend. Remus collapsed, arms wrapped around himself, before the clothes came flying off. He was tearing at himself in anger, fury whipping about like they hadn't seen since they'd started helping him through the change. All three of them surrounded him, Sirius stumbling into the space nearest the werewolf. Moony snapped at him, partially changed with an exposed jaw and bones in his shoulder popping into place. Sirius melted into Padfoot faster than they'd seen before.

"Sirius, be careful!" James shouted at him, as he rolled toward the angry werewolf. Moony was himself now, breathing heavily in a tangle of limbs on the ground. Without warning, he shot up and took off. Sirius was after him, stumbling and rubbing against trees as he ran. "Padfoot, you drunk mutt!" It took a moment, but Prongs followed shortly with Wormtail astride.

Moony did not make the journey easy. Instead, he threw himself into sprinting as fast as his lungs would fill and refill. Several times, he thought he would black out for lack of oxygen, but the wolf's black energy was too great and so, Moony ran. Padfoot kept up as best he could with his lumbering frame. He watched from behind as the sleek wolf scraped himself on tree branches, slipped down steep hills, and stumbled unknowingly into a bone-chilling ravine. Padfoot barked incessantly each time Moony faltered, but there was no response. Several hours later, Moony collapsed. He had no more energy to feed on, so both the wolf and the man gave up.

Padfoot was on him in seconds, but Prongs and Wormtail were trailing minutes behind, if only to stay back a safe distance. When they entered the small section of woods where Moony fell, Prongs knelt down to allow Wormtail's descent and they both stood next to the whimpering Padfoot as he licked Moony's panting face. Padfoot's languid change back to Sirius was hampered by the labored breathing and harsh words coming from his mouth.

"You stupid git. What were you thinking?" There was no response. He smoothed the flesh of Moony's cheeks, scent-marking himself and waiting for Moony to revert. Sirius looked up, wondering how long it was going to take.

"Not long." Sirius twisted to look at Peter, surprised to hear the small voice. "Maybe fifteen minutes or so." He didn't respond, only nodded. Peter looked proud of himself and James patted him on the back.

"Come on, Moony. There you are." When he reached forward, he felt the chilled skin of Remus, saw the fresh scrapes and bruises. Sirius moved away just enough to take off his robe and drape it around Remus. The thinner boy tried to object, but Sirius put his arms through it anyway, ignoring the frail protests.

"Leave me." Remus turned his head away, unable to move more than that. "Just leave me, Sirius."

"I will not." Against his wishes, Sirius rolled away from Remus and crouched down to get his arms under the tired boy's legs and upper body. Remus grunted as he was picked up.

"Leave me, Sirius. I don't need this. I don't need you to carry me. I'm not a child. I'm—" The others turned away as Sirius leaned in and bit down roughly on Remus's neck, silencing him. He held the bite until the werewolf went limp in his arms.

Whispers, nothing more, "Fuck off, Moony. I'm too tired after your marathon sulk to deal with any more bullshit today. You will let me do this for you." Remus didn't move or say anything more as the solemn group made their way back to the manor house.

 **oOoOoOo**

Climbing the stairs had been exhausting. James and Peter had the foresight to throw the invisibility cloak over Sirius and Remus, which allotted them some privacy in walking awkwardly into the spare room, but the lingering time spent with the door open was blatantly obvious to anyone looking. After only a minute or two to be sure that Sirius and Remus were settled, Sirius kicked the other two out. There were grumbles about the midnight run and returning on the train in the morning, but eventually, they left.

Sirius returned to rummage around in Remus's bag. He only turned back to his silent roommate when he'd found the healing potions he'd been looking for. As he returned to the edge of the bed, he was greeted by a cold back and more silence. Sirius thrust a chocolate bar and the potion in front of his face so that he had to take it or have it be wiggling against his nose. Remus groaned, lifted himself up on an elbow, which incited further groaning, and downed the potion. Sirius winced as he lifted the shirt and began applying salve to the cuts. At first, the other man tried to pull away, but as his pain eased, his head tilted and his shoulders dropped and Sirius smiled a little in seeing the relaxation there.

"Remus."

"No."

"Remus. We need to talk."

"I said no, Sirius. There's nothing for us to talk about." Remus turned to face him now, all solemn expressions and down-turned eyes. When he picked at the frayed edges of the blanket absently, Sirius reached out with one hand. There was a stillness between them. They breathed together for a moment until fingers were gently moving around Remus's hand, feeling his pulse point and rubbing against the life there. They continued until his palms were flat against a scarred chest which was breathing deeply, unevenly. Ripples crawled across his skin and he shivered.

"I know you're not cold, Moony. I can feel the heat radiating off you." Remus clenched his jaw against the pillow he was leaning against, firmly not looking at the man in his bed. Sirius leaned over and took a flushed nipple in his mouth and, now, Remus couldn't help his groan. A hand reached out and gripped Sirius's jaw, lifting to meet Remus's eyes.

"We can't do this anymore."

"Why the fuck not?" His entire body tensed as if to flee, to run from the hurt those words caused coming from the man beneath him.

"You're to be married, Sirius. It's better we stop this—this, whatever we are, now."

"Whatever we are? Are you kidding me? I've been sharing your bloody bed for two years and you don't know what this is? What I am? Fuck you, Remus. I fucking love you." He turned to leave, but Remus's grip stopped him. The slender brunette placed a chaste kiss on the inside of Sirius's wrist, where a tattoo of a moon joins the Canis Major constellation, with Sirius shining brightly.

"Sometimes, in our world, love isn't enough." Remus let go.

Sirius stared hard at him, blinking rapidly before standing and walking to his own bed. There, he curled up beneath the covers, arm thrown haphazardly over his ear, and pretended to block out the world. After a few minutes of trying, he sat up and growled a privacy charm, failing every bit even after Remus's breathing faded away.

 **oOoOoOo**

Peter and James were at a loss with how to treat their fellow Marauders. The gross lack of interest was such a leech on everyone that even James backed off tormenting Lily with poorly-versed love poems. One morning, she marched right up to James to ask what was wrong and they stared at her as if she'd lost the plot entirely. Sirius was falling asleep in class more than usual. Remus threw himself into revising for NEWTs and was practically impossible to get away from the library.

When invitations came with Tuesday's morning post, Sirius stood up from the table, left his toast half-eaten on his plate, and exited the Great Hall. Envelopes from the Black family were formally requesting the recipient's presence for a gathering at the Black family home; those from the Avery family were worded to a similar effect, only at the same location. Whispers started flying and Charlene Avery was overwhelmed with gossip mongers wanting to know how she'd managed to ensnare "the infamous Sirius Black" and "what sort of marriage contract was there going to be?" and "did she already have an _agreement_?" Remus looked like he was going to be ill and his friends could do nothing as he, too, stood and left the hall. James and Peter tucked their invitations into their things for class, noting that Remus's hands had been empty. Together, they frowned and went after Sirius. Remus was likely off to the library again, so it was better to save the friend who would end up in Azkaban rather than the one who might get kicked out of the library for loitering.

Peter was the first to spot him near the Black Lake. Sirius wasn't the first Hogwarts student to taunt the giant squid, and he certainly wouldn't be the last; however, in his current state of mind, it probably wasn't a good idea to be doing it while drinking a bottle of firewhisky and standing precariously on one of the less-stable rock ledges.

"Aye. There you are, mates. Perfect timing! Me and old squid brains here were just having a bit of a chat. He thinks that if I throw myself into his loving arms that I can save everyone the hassle of wiping my _own_ brains off the walls in a few days. I think that's a grand idea. What about you?" Sirius turned to them a bit too quickly and slipped, only regaining his balance with the help of the bottle, using it as leverage against the rock face.

"Sirius, come down, man." There was laughter, but it didn't reach the young Black's eyes. "C'mon. Don't make me come up there and get you."

"You would, wouldn't you, James?" He stopped teetering for just a moment. It's long enough that he knelt to ground himself. "Both of you would. And that's what makes you two of my best mates." He looked down to them. James was stern, ready with his wand in case Sirius stumbled, whereas Peter was simply quiet, unhappy to see the normally joyous marauder brought that low.

"Sirius." James extended a hand. "Please."

Just as Sirius reached out to grab it, he slipped, coming into contact hard with both the stone and the two boys in front of him. They all tumbled to the ground. When they rearranged limbs and wands so that each were with their respective owners, Sirius was looking overwhelmingly emotional. "I need a favor, mate."

"Anything," James responded.

"I need you to make sure that Remus comes to the betrothal party." James was taken aback.

"You need to be sure about this. You know how Walburga is and—"

Sirius cut him off, "I'm sure. He needs to be there, Prongs."

"All right then. You have my word, our word." James looked to Peter, who nodded.

 **oOoOoOo**

Sirius looked like a sleazy, stuffed peacock in the dress robes Walburga stuffed him in. They were black and green with yellow inlay that popped as he slinked around the room. Rather than casually chat with the guests and plan for his future as his mother had cautioned, or rather, threatened him to do, Sirius most often found himself with one shot of Ogden's in hand and another on its way down the hatch. He laughed inappropriately and he ogled all the women in the room except for his fiancée. He was rude and interrupted his elders. Sirius Black was very much Sirius Black.

"Sirius, do stop imbibing like a fish in the Black Lake. You're bound to end up like poor Cygnus." Sirius huffed, turning to face his uncle Alphard. "Sirius. Put the glass down." A hand met his own and Sirius raised a brow. His uncle was not one for stopping his youthful gestures, so he looked up. "She's coming." Instead of putting it down, he tipped back the glass with haste and set it on a passing tray, barely bobbing on the top of a house elf's head.

"Mother, dear. How can we help you?" She looked him up and down, squinting.

"You can get your disobedient little arse over where you belong." When Sirius continued to stand where he was, she continued, "Next to your fiancée. If I have to charm those legs of yours, they will very closely resemble a giant's!" Words were hissing through her front teeth, saving him the glory of her spittle.

"Yes, mother." She stared him down as he walked toward the front of the room.

When he approached, Charlene smiled, though it was small and reserved. She was tucked between her mother and father, as a good breeding bitch should be. Sirius laughed, and felt a stinging hex hit his thigh. His gait only faltered for one stride and he played it off as if he were turning to look at the crowd. All eyes were on him, except the ones he sought.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." Walburga's bass rang through the room, magnified by a Sonorous Charm. As she made her way through the crowd, Orion stood to the side, watching the show as if he wanted no part in it. "It is with the utmost pleasure that we of Houses Black and Avery welcome you." Here, she paused for a flourish of her hand, using a wandless spell, likely with the help of the house elves, to send a complicated firework into the air, trailing the crests of both houses through the room before they appeared together on the wall. "As some of you have been made aware, tonight is a celebration. We are here to announce the betrothal of the heir to our Noble and most Ancient house." She motioned for Sirius to step forward. This, he complied with. "Sirius Black, our first-born son and heir, is to be wed to Charlene Avery, which will complete by marriage a long-standing alliance previously held by oath and blood."

Sirius and Charlene were shuffled together, their parents, except for Orion, standing behind them. No one in the room dared move until the venerable matriarch released them. However, it was not she that stirred the crowd.

"Thank you, Walburga," Sirius looked straight into her coal-black eyes as she fumed, "for the excellent choice in betrothal arrangements between myself and the… delectable Miss Avery." Here, Sirius paused to lean over Charlene's hand, grasp her fingers tightly, and lick the back of her knuckles. She blushed obscenely, yanking her hand back as he chuckled. "However, what we've regretted to inform our guests is that I have, by means of a prior bond, committed my virtue elsewhere."

Charlene's face was blank. Her father's was not.

"Walburga! What is the meaning of this?"

"Sirius Black, you will cease your defiance this instant!" She was whispering in his ear, but Sirius was already walking toward the guests, who had backed toward the walls after his proclamation.

"I'm afraid it's true, loves. There is someone who has stolen not only my virginity," he smiled like a Cheshire cat at the gasps that followed, "but this person has stolen my heart. Yes, yes I know it's rather not true to form for a Black to have one. Alas; I had one, but now it's gone." He spun around the room, searching carefully. In amongst the crowd, Sirius spotted one of the faces he was looking for. Peter was practically clinging to his mother's robes, so he pursed his lips and kept looking. After he'd nearly given up, he spotted James's lanky build and eager grin. Sirius exhaled, looked down, and counted to three. When he looked up again, he turned to see another set of eyes staring right at him. This was the pair of lovely greens he'd been searching for.

"There you are." The words were whispered, and he shook his head, trying to clear it and pluck up his courage. "Sirius Black needing courage? What a fucking plod." He laughed at himself and stood tall. The figure in the back of the room shrank away even farther.

"What's it to be then?" a voice called from the side.

"Don't you mean who?" Sirius took his outer robe off, casually tossing it to the floor. He could hear the string of profanities coming from behind him.

"SIRIUS ORION BLACK! IF YOU DON'T STOP THIS RI—" He tuned her out and kept talking.

"In this very room, you will find the one who has stolen my heart. He—" Sirius ignored the further chattering on about the use of a male pronoun. "made me realize that I don't have to be more than I am. That I can be me and that's enough."

"YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE. IF I EVER SEE YOU AGAIN YOU WIL—"

"He helped me to understand that to love is more than to shag." At this, he chuckled, along with about half of the room. "It's about giving so much of yourself that you're empty, but you are receiving part of yourself back in the other person. It's about knowing when to say yes, when to say no, and that sometimes, fuck off means I need you." Sirius was speaking directly to Remus now. Their eyes were locked. Sirius was unbuttoning his shirt. It didn't have to come off, but it was more for effect than anything else.

"DISOWNED! I WILL HEX YOU SO FAR FROM LONDON THAT YOU WILL FIND PARTS OF YOUR SKULL FLOATING ON—"

"Well, I think I've been a mushy plonker long enough, yeah? This mutt's taken!" With that, Sirius dissolved into Padfoot, who happily trotted through the rapidly parting crowd toward Remus. Once there, he knocked over the stunned man and licked him feverishly until Remus started acknowledging his presence.

"—LUPIN! BOTH OF YOU WILL FIND YOURSELVES COLLARED AND CHAINED IN THE FRONT YARD FOR THE HIPPOGRIFFS TO PLAY WITH!"

"Lads," James tried to cut in, nudging Remus's shoulder with a boot. He received no answer. Looking from Walburga's approaching thunder to the boys on the floor, he kicked the downed werewolf. "Lads!" They both turned to him. Padfoot growled a bit. "We need to leave! Now!" James tilted his head toward the oncoming Black. "Do you need me to apparate all of us or do you have him, Moony?" Remus looked at his lap full of Padfoot and wanted to say so much to the shaggy dog, but it would have to wait. "We don't have the time, Moony." James reached down, grabbed both by the scruff of their collars and disapparated them, the whorl of man and beast leaving chaos in their wake.

 **oOoOoOo**

Arms and legs flailed about in a tangle as when they landed. There was a groan, but no one quite knew who it came from. As the three disentangled themselves, one of Padfoot's claws scraped across James's thigh and the latter yelped. In the small confines of the shack, it was deafening.

"Damn it, Pads!" There was a bit of commotion as the lumbering canine scrambled away and then Sirius was there, half-naked and blinking slowly.

"Sorry Prongs." He genuinely sounded remorseful, but he wasn't looking at James. "Moony, you all right?" By this point, he was hovering over Remus, shaggy hair covering Remus's face. Sirius grinned down when Remus just shook his head. A hand came up and traced the jutting jaw, wrapped around his ear lobe, and gripped his wavy locks, tugging backward.

"You're a right bastard, you know that?" Sirius was pulled off balance entirely, landing atop Remus as the other man placed a chaste kiss, then deepened it, tongue searching as Sirius moaned.

"As happy as I am for you, I think this is my cue to leave." James sounded a bit put out, but laughed as he stood and hobbled out of the room. He threw up a silencing spell as he went. Neither Sirius, nor Remus heard a word.

Instead, Sirius was trying desperately to unclothe them both without breaking contact. Struggling with the zip on Remus's trousers, Sirius palmed his wand and vanished their clothing. Remus growled, but was lost to the frantic slide of hips, arching his back to each grind of cock against his own, and paid no mind to the bruising grip on his thigh as Sirius tried to climb inside him through his mouth. There was nothing but need and burn and want and _right now_.

There was a slow, painfully slow, wait while Sirius prepared Remus. The gasps and groans from below as Sirius continued to rock against him were almost too much. Remus's grip on his wrist, coupled with panting and a rapid nod, was the signal. Sirius slid in slowly, felt the man beneath him hold his breath and grapple with the floor until he was fully seated. Sirius licked a stripe up the sweat-soaked chest of his lover and returned to pinch one nipple between his teeth, rolling it there until Remus cried out in pain-pleasure. When he felt a squirming, deep grip on his cock, he pulled out and thrust, the guttural warble from Remus his prize.

An uneven roll of his hips, left to right, as he slid home, and tilted just a little upward, found that sweet spot. Remus's stomach clenched and he pulled one knee up, looking straight into Sirius' eyes. Their lips met, a sloppy slide of tongue, breath, and life. Sirius continued until he felt his bollocks tighten. He reached a hand between them to grip Remus, but Remus stopped him.

"Wait."

"What?" Sirius shook his head, a few drops of sweat cascading down to land between them.

"Sirius stop. I need to ask you something."

"Now?"

"Yes. Now."

"Fuck."

"You said that you'd been bonded. You know, prior." Sirius stared down at him, dumbfounded. "What did you mean by that?"

"I meant you, you twat." Remus blushed.

"Do you really want to be bonded to me?"

"Yes, now can we get back to the shagging?"

"Sirius, what kind of bond?" Sirius sighed, feeling himself soften just a little. He shifted and closed his eyes as the sensation ripped through him.

Sirius growled. "Pack bond, mate bond, wizard's bond. Any bond will do, so long as it's you, Moony."

"I think we should do it properly, then."

"Fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

His erection had flagged during the conversation, but he looked between them to see that Remus's cock was still bobbing between them, leaving a trail across his stomach. "I see you don't need any help." Remus smiled. He leaned up and kissed Sirius, gripping the man's arse and pulling him deeper. Sirius breathed harshly as Remus did this, felt a hand comb through his dripping hair and push it behind his ears. When he pulled back, Sirius was gently thrusting again, trying to find a rhythm that suited them both.

It didn't take long. Remus was lifting his hips into each stroke and Sirius was intent on making them both feel every sensation of every push and pull. When the gasps were shorter and their skin was sticking because of the mixture of dried sweat and new, and they were struggling to move tired muscles, but continued anyway because the peak was just around the corner—that's when he did it.

Remus grabbed hold of Sirius and latched onto his collar bone, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh there. Sirius cried out, but it was for more than the pain. There was a crackling of magic whirling around them that was sharp and electrifying, that seemed to settle into his very bones. He spilled himself deep into Remus, feeling his lover clench and do the same. Remus held on, gasping between his teeth and holding that shoulder as Sirius struggled to get away, hold on, shatter, and disappear between the cracks of the floorboards. Just when Sirius felt that he could take no more, Remus withdrew. Sirius hissed a sharp intake of breath. Remus lapped at the wound lazily, letting his lover collapse partially on top of him.

As they lay puddled there in a mass of heaving flesh, Remus whispered in Sirius's ear, "Now, no one can question you." Sirius could not respond. He could do no more than close his eyes to the bursts of light behind his lids. For the first time in his life, Sirius was not the brightest star in his future.

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	3. Cold

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: Cold**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: Language, Sexual Content**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **Cold**

* * *

 _(Suggested Music: 'So Cold' by Ben Cocks)_

Hermione paced up and down her living room agitatedly; he was late. He was never late. Feeling her wards shift she relaxed, he was here. Hermione turned around and watched as her front door opened to reveal the wizard that at that moment walked into her apartment. His long, straight, blonde hair was tied back in a black ribbon neatly, and her breath caught as the familiar reaction unfurled in her stomach. Raging butterflies along with intensive electricity shot through her body; this wizard alone could evoke such a physical reaction from her being.

Lucius Malfoy stood looking at her after closing the door behind him, his usual smirk not in place.

Hermione didn't notice it as she only launched across the room to plant her lips to his hungrily. She needed him this night even more than the other times. Within seconds his unusual reluctance melted away as he started returning her kisses frantically, his arms encircled her waist to cup her arse cheeks as he pulled her up against him harshly. She circled her legs around his waist and hooked her feet behind him, never once did they break the hungry kiss.

Lucius walked them to the nearest wall where he pressed her back; still, their mouths devoured each other in the battle for dominance as their tongues meshed. Her hands buried into his hair as she discarded the ribbon, soon his smooth locks were disheveled and her hands scrunching fistfuls as she kept his head securely positioned to her lips. Hermione pulled her mouth away to breath into his ear as his lips trailed down her jaw fervently.

"You smell like _her_ —" He cut her off with a growl as he nipped her earlobe. "When we are finished I will smell of you Hermione, and you of me."

She groaned as he sucked on her earlobe, and her hands fisted his hair harshly, "You said she was no one, just a business colleague… yet tonight you certainly seemed the part of lovers Lucius—"

Her wizard only chuckled, and then his lips mashed against her once more as he ground his erection against her, their clothing barely a barrier between them. "Hush… just let it be."

And Hermione let it be, so they continued as they had for almost two years now. Lovers of the night.

 **oOoOoOo**

They were lying entangled together in her bed, just like they did every night. Lucius lived with her for all intents and purposes. He only slept at the manor if he had guests over, otherwise, he would be with her. But it was always at night when no one would know. They both had their reasons for it; she was afraid of her friends' reactions, and Lucius, well she was still muggleborn, and he was still on the slow journey of changing his perspectives. But he was changing.

Hermione stared up at the ceiling in the darkness; she felt uneasy.

It had started when he had entered the ministry reception with Estelle Selwyn clinging to his arm; that witch was needling her way all the more into her lover's life. It started as a business proposition between the Selwyn and Malfoy companies, but the business meetings soon became lunch dates and later even dinner dates. Lucius insisted it was only business, but Hermione was a woman, and women knew when something was brewing.

And so when Lucius entered that reception with the elegant witch hanging off his arm, she knew it had gone past business. It was personal.

A driving need started to fill her as she watched them together for the rest of the reception; jealousy was the only name she could place on what was clawing inside of her. And along with the consuming jealousy came the uncertainty. The feeling of not being good enough…Hermione hated feeling unworthy. She had to stop herself countless times from marching over to him and possessively staking her claim.

She needed him to show her that she was still the witch he wanted. That Estelle was just what he said she was, a business partner.

And that was how she had ended up just throwing herself at him earlier that night; she needed to reassure herself that he was still hers.

Hermione let her thoughts travel to how they ended up together. It had been at the Ministry, of course, as he was an important benefactor to the Ministry. Hermione was head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and busy pushing life-changing bills. Two of her most important bills were for the freedom for werewolves' movement and employment equality, as well as the house elf freedom act. The house elf bill was a bit more complicated, though, as they mostly didn't want to be freed, so basically she just made the necessary changes that allowed elves to be freed should they wish it, along with passing the paid employment bill for all elves. Whether they were free or not.

She had been very glad when the Minister informed her she had received funding for the latest project she had been busy with, although when she met the benefactor, she wished that she could just flip him the bird and walk away.

As it was, she needed the funding. And soon Lucius Malfoy became a regular face in her department as he insisted he be a part of the management of the projects. They fought about everything, every day. The other staff in her department soon started wearing ear mufflers in order to drown out their screaming matches. Although in all fairness, she was the one yelling, whereas Lucius would always just sneer his retaliations in a very quiet almost polite way. She guessed it was that which riled her up so much to start screaming at him to begin with.

It was about six months in with that project that they had sex the first time.

They were in her office, behind closed doors in order to keep their fight private, one of the few times they bothered with it. And Hermione was just about ready to hex him when he cut her of mid-sentence with an angry sneer, grabbing her shoulders and crushing his lips to her in a searing kiss.

They had sex right there on her office table. Lucius hadn't been gentle, and she was sore for a while after.

After that, they avoided each other for two days, no fights and no interaction of any sort. Except for the covert glances, that was. Then finally, on the third day, they couldn't hold it back anymore. Something raw had been awakened within them, some chemistry and passion that could not be avoided. They had sex again then; this time a bit more leisurely, and instead of her office; it had been at an Inn in Diagon Alley. And the rest, as they say, was history. It was just about two years later now, and she was afraid to admit to herself that they were nothing more than each other's dirty little secret. The sad part was the fact that they actually loved each other; their relationship was a relationship that had evolved into real love. In the time they had been together, Lucius Malfoy had become her world and she couldn't see herself without him any longer. There was something addictive about him, a something she couldn't quit. Hermione couldn't help but to face the reality that she loved Lucius Malfoy completely and utterly, there was simply put, nothing she wouldn't do for him. And she knew the feeling went both ways.

Hermione sighed as she once more tried to find a more comfortable position in order to get some sleep, but before she could settle herself once more, Lucius quietly detangled his legs from hers and slid from the bed. Frowning, she pushed herself up to a sitting position as to follow his pale form in the darkened room, though the moonlight that came through the window illuminated the room just enough so that she could still see him, and everything else, clearly.

Her frown deepened as she saw him starting to get dressed; he never left during the night.

Hermione turned on her bedside lamp, which bathed the room in dim golden light, enough so that she could now see his expression. He avoided looking at her as he finished buttoning up his dress shirt; his face remained impassive.

"Lucius…?" His name was whispered when he finally finished dressing. She watched with gnawing trepidation as his shoulders tensed and he turned around to face her.

Her breath caught at the look in his eyes — he hadn't looked at her so coldly since they first started this relationship — and the grim press of his mouth into a thin line. Hermione felt a hammering start up behind her eardrums as the realisation settled about what was about to happen.

"Hermione. I am leaving now, this had been pleasurable, but it is over now. I will, of course, fund the project still, but entrust its management to you alone now. Good night Hermione…" And with that cold speech he turned and left her room and subsequently her apartment. When she heard the front door close, she realised he also left her life.

She sat staring at the bedroom door in dumbfounded shock, then amidst the blood rushing through her ears and the dull throb in her head, she realised there were tears streaming down her face silently. Everything toppled around her — the emotions that she had tentatively developed over the last couple of years, the delicate dreams she had carefully started to construct. Everything was crumbling. Her chest constricted, and she stood up from the bed to try and open up her airways as her breathing started to hitch. Standing naked next to her bed, she clutched the footboard as dizziness enveloped her senses. She couldn't breathe, and it felt like her chest was being split in two with the pain of heartbreak. Blood pounded in her ears, and her head throbbed. Finally, her body gave in, and she collapsed to the ground where sobs wracked her small frame through the quiet of her apartment.

She was alone, left to cry in the cold.

 **oOoOoOo**

Hermione's heart was bleeding tears as she felt the crack widening with each passing day in the chambers of her heart. She tried to go on normally and hide her pain from the world — and especially from her friends.

At first, she put in leave from work for a day, as she found she couldn't function the morning after he had left, but she ended up staying locked in her apartment for the whole week to wallow in her misery. Hermione rationalised that she would give herself that week to be weak, and then she would be the strong war heroine that she knew she was once more. But by Friday afternoon she couldn't take it anymore, she needed a reason. He hadn't given her a reason, and she missed him and needed to hear his voice. They had been together for almost two years, and even though it had been in secret, it didn't mean that they hadn't shared their lives, their love, together. The least he could give her was a reason.

So that was why she sat in front of her floo that afternoon with her gaunt face and trembling hands; she needed a reason, she kept repeating that to herself in order to extenuate her weakness.

"Hermione… you can't call me here. I am not alone—" Hermione blinked in surprise as she took in the wizard standing in front of his floo; he was dressed in casual pants and a button up, indicating whoever was there was personal and not business. He was cut off when a voice Hermione recognised very well called from the hallway. She felt the immediate sting of tears behind her eyes upon realisation, "I- I just needed a reason, Lucius…"

His cold expression faltered momentarily when he heard the catch in her voice, and for a second his eyes showed sadness, but it was instantly covered again in that cold mask with the sneer. "There is no reason. It was fun, and now it is over. Do not call here again Miss Granger."

With that he turned on his heels and walked to the door where Estelle stood watching their exchange. Hermione pulled her head from the fire and wrapped her arms around her small frame, rocking back and forth to calm herself down. She had thought the call might help some, but now it just hurt even more with the realisation that it had given her a reason: Estelle Selwyn. After what seemed like hours of sitting like that, she finally wiped her tears away and stood up. She would return to work that Monday and start picking up the pieces of her life once more.

Lucius was right, it was fun, but now it was obviously over.

 **oOoOoOo**

That second week passed in a blur. Hermione operated on mostly a disassociated state. She walked and talked and smiled automatically, her interactions all rehearsed and autonomous. It naturally meant her friends did realise something was wrong, but luckily they didn't question her. Yet.

When the second Friday AL (After Lucius, as she termed it now) came, it brought with it a front page article in the Daily Prophet that unfortunately brought their dirty little secret crashing out loudly. The article quoted a 'source close to Lucius Malfoy' had leaked the information to them; Hermione knew it was Estelle Selwyn making sure that Hermione got burned for daring to be involved with wizarding royalty.

The front page boasted a picture of Hermione and Lucius together in a muggle park somewhere in London. In the picture, they were sharing a quick kiss before pulling back to turn their heads and smile together at the camera. The image looped over and over again for the whole of wizarding Britain to see. They only had two pictures together; the one that was blasted all over the front page currently was the one that Lucius had in his possession. The article itself was surprisingly accurate; it merely stated that they had been involved in a secret relationship for a few years and that Lucius Malfoy broke it off in order to proceed with his engagement to Miss Estelle Selwyn. The article ended with the ominous message of what would the other two parts of the Golden Trio say to these revelations?

Hermione lowered the Prophet slowly onto her desk. Her hands were shaking, and the blood had drained from her face. She already looked like hell and knew that now she would look even worse. As if on cue, her door burst open to show a pale Harry followed closely by a fuming Ron. Hermione didn't say anything, but she just sat and looked at them wide eyed as they stood in front of her desk.

"Is this true Mione?" Ron spoke first; his face was flushed with anger and his tone harsh. Hermione somehow knew he wasn't angry at her, though — well not completely anyway.

Nodding slowly, she responded, "Yes, I am sorry I didn't tell you… I was afraid of your reactions—" Harry cut her off mid-apology with a watered down smile.

"It's okay Hermione, I would have been too had I been in the same position, but we would support you no matter who you decide to date...Now, so it was him that hurt you, right? Ron, let's go." Hermione frowned in confusion at his words and then even more when Harry promptly turned around to leave her office. "Right Harry, that son of a dementor needs to be put in place… he won't go around hurting our Mione and get away with it—"

Their voices disappeared as they left her office, leaving a stunned Hermione behind. What had just happened? Hermione shook herself from her stupor and ran after them, but when she reached the corridor from her office, they were already gone. With a weary sigh, she returned to her desk. Let them do what they wanted; she didn't care anymore. It wouldn't damp the scandal any less in either case.

The rest of her day was spent hiding out in her office as it was impossible to step out of it. Everyone stared and even openly gossiped about her, and some of the remarks were decidedly hurtful. She hid till late into the eveneing until she was sure that no one else was around anymore before she carefully left her office and floo'd home.

The next morning found another front page article relating to her in the Saturday Prophet.

This time, the picture featured a Harry, Ron and Lucius in a physical brawl. Apparently, Harry and Ron had tracked down Lucius in the Leaky Cauldron and skipped the wand duels to dive straight into fisticuffs. Hermione groaned; typical, over protective Harry and Ron. The article detailed the public fight, which incidentally produced no winner as they were broken up by other Aurors, with a lot of references to Hermione's certain quietness regarding the whole matter. She stayed in her flat for the rest of the day.

Harry and Ginny stopped by briefly to offer their support, and they were followed closely by Ron and Pansy as well. Pansy was the surprising fiancée to Ronald Weasley after a very fiery romance that hit the gossip columns hard for weeks. But Hermione got them to leave as quickly as she could; she wanted to lick her wounds in private. Much too embarrassed to admit, or even indicate, her weakness to her strong Gryffindor friends.

That night she sat on the cold tile floor in her living room, once again hugging her form as she rocked back and forth. This was the first time this whole week where she let herself break down again in the silence of her apartment. Hermione hated her weakness in this breakdown. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks as she let memories of the last two years wrack her mind.

 _They were sitting on a blanket in the park, watching the muggles while she told Lucius some tidbits from her life. They only ever came out in public in muggle London for obvious reasons, she spent those times educating him more on muggle society. He was smiling genuinely as she told him of the time she broke her arm due to the consequences of some accidental magic._

 _Lucius surprised her when he leaned in to kiss her mid-sentence; it was such a soft kiss that it stole her breath away completely. He pulled away and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, "You're beautiful Hermione… I am truly in love with you."_

 _His words shocked her into the state of speechlessness._

 _Slowly a smile spread across her face as she leaned in to kiss him this time. Pulling back, she met his eyes to study the grey depths intently. "And I am in love with you Lucius Malfoy, despite all the odds."_

The memory of the day they professed their feelings to each other swam in her mind — it had been barely eleven months prior. She had let dreams begin to form of the day they would face the masses and be together truly. Dreams she couldn't stop once they started. Dreams about moving in together and attending those blasted Ministry functions side by side. Dreams about them bickering over their differing opinions, only to end the argument in heated kisses. Dreams of them maybe have a little family of their own one day, if the relationship survived. Lucius was young by wizarding standards, and he had confided that he always wanted another child but that Narcissa couldn't have more children, and now he was a widower still in his prime.

It had been such careful dreams, constructed little by little like wisps of smoke gathered into a bottle to look at as they swirled around.

And then the business talks began with Estelle Selwyn.

Beautiful, pure-blooded Estelle Selwyn. She was the heir of the Selwyn family, also part of the elite sacred twenty-eight. They had an illustrious company that rivalled Malfoy Enterprises completely, and Estelle was known as the driving force behind her father and the family business. She had a reputation for being ruthless in getting what she wanted, and being nine years Hermione's senior, she had a certain confidence that could only be gotten with age. The other reason that Hermione detested her, was quite simply, she was the cousin of Dolores Umbridge.

She shook as a chill permeated her body from the cold tile floor, yet she didn't get up. Instead, she continued her rocking while the quiet tears followed its course down her face. She was alone and freezing while he most likely shared a bed currently with _her,_ being held close and warm. She just couldn't figure out what went wrong. He had still told her he loved her the day before the reception from hell, still assured her that Estelle was nothing but a future business partner.

What happened? Why did he just shatter all her dreams while just standing there so cold?

A sob broke from her, and as it sounded around the quiet apartment she jumped up frantically. Looking around she noticed all the little trinkets that had various connections to Lucius, accumulated small things that they had collected. The little jade snake ornament on the coffee table, an ornately framed portrait from a famous muggle artist that she loved against the wall were among a few of the things.

She couldn't tell you afterward what made her snap, whether it had been the raw pain and heartbreak or the anger at the betrayal, either way at that moment she just wanted it all to end. To hell with logic and common sense, she just wanted to yell and scream and let it all out. And that was how she grabbed her wand and pointed it at the little jade serpent, blowing it into splinters that spat all over her living room. Next, she stormed the portrait and pulled it from the wall to throw it to the floor. She was in a mad daze as she slowly worked through her apartment while destroying and throwing everything that she connected to Lucius sodding Malfoy. Jewelry was blasted, clothes were ripped and burned, ornaments shattered…

Finally, she pulled the picture she had of them from her bedside stand. Looking at the picture, she could only feel the ripping pain in her heart. This picture was taken after the other, a week after they had admitted their feelings. In this picture, there was a certain comfort to them that the other one lacked still; this one had them standing next to each other in Paris with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Their hands were clasped together firmly while both of them leaned against each other tightly; the picture loop was of how they tilted their heads to look at each other while loving smiles passed between them. Then he kisses her forehead gently before they look forward again to smile at the camera.

There was something magical about this picture, something so deep and purely elemental.

Hermione felt the haze of fury slowly ebb away, and then, while clutching the picture to her chest, she just sat down on the bed, staring blankly. Two years of her life had been spent with him; loving him… how did you pick up the pieces after something like this? The sheets were ripped, as she wanted to get rid of them as well, the sheets they had slept in together almost every night for almost two years. The exchange sheets were also ripped apart in a pile on the floor in front of the linen cupboard. All the bedding smelled of him, even the cleaned and washed spare sheets.

She just wanted to get rid of his smell, his presence. Her apartment just didn't feel like home anymore.

The quiet was stifling in her almost dark and cold apartment; she hadn't turned any lights on and definitely didn't light the fire. It wasn't home anymore.

Hermione just sat there staring at the wall of her bedroom, the picture clutched tightly against her chest; she didn't hear her floo roar in the living room, even though the apartment was eerily quiet and dark. She only registered the presence in her apartment when her bedroom light was switched on, leaving her blinking furiously in the unexpected glare.

"Merlin — Granger?"

The unexpected voice of her old school rival brought her attention back suddenly. She turned her head to watch as the younger version of her ex-lover picked his way through the scattered debris all over her bedroom floor. The crunch as he stepped on splintered ornaments and jewels the only sounds permeating through the room. Finally, the twenty-eight year old Malfoy reached her; he dropped to his haunches in front of her to look straight into her eyes.

"Granger, you are a wreck…" His voice didn't hold his usual sarcasm, instead, he sounded worried.

She didn't resist as he gently pried the picture from her now limp hand. She vaguely took in how he looked at the picture with a wry sneer before he placed it on her bed stand face down. Then he stood up and took both her upper arms, pulling her up as well. She let him handle her meekly, her mind somewhere else entirely.

"Granger, I'm taking you to my home. You can't stay here… Come on." And with that, he led her from her room to her floo. Once there he stepped in with her and placed an arm protectively around her shoulders as he floo'd them both to his house. Hermione all the while offered no resistance or protestations, she would protest later, but for now, she just wanted to be taken care of for a change.

 **oOoOoOo**

Hermione woke up the next morning with a blinding headache and a parched throat, her eyes also felt like they had sandpaper for lids. Blinking to try and moisten them, she started to take in the room around her, and then gaped in surprise as she saw the figure slumping in the armchair right next to the bed. The pale man was fast asleep in the chair, and judging by the awkward angle, he would wake up with a very stiff neck and probably a sore back as well.

She sat up slowly, blinking again as a wave of nausea overcame her for a few seconds, then leaning over to touch Draco's arm softly, "Malfoy?"

At her touch and voice, the younger Malfoy started awake, his eyes widened in obvious surprise upon seeing he had fallen asleep in her room. To try and appease him, she gave him a small smile as she pulled her hand back. Draco sat up straight instantly and smirked at her in an obvious attempt to regain his normal 'Malfoy' composure.

"Glad to see you regained your senses, Granger—" He started with his normal sarcasm but Hermione cut him off by leaning forward to peck a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Malfoy… You came at a time when I really shouldn't have been alone. So, thank you…" She flushed in embarrassment as the snippets of memories chased across her mind.

Realising that she had truly lost it there the previous night; she lowered her head in shame. Malfoy had found her in the wreck that was her apartment. An apartment she just couldn't face going back to; she would never see it as home again. She heard him clearing his throat awkwardly, and she couldn't blame him. It wasn't as if they were friends specifically. They had made peace some time after the war and would exchange greetings and sometimes small conversation in passing, but that was pretty much it. At least part of the making peace process had included his asking for, and receiving, forgiveness for the years of prejudiced bullying, so they didn't have that little mountain between them anymore.

"Look, Granger, I went to your place to check on you, your silence in light of everything was rather… conspicuous…" He glanced guardedly at her as he spoke, but she didn't respond.

He continued in lieu of her silence, "I wasn't planning on doing anything more, but I realised last night that you are owed a reason. And as my father won't be coming forth, I will give it instead."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blonde man in confusion. He knew why Lucius did what he did? "What do you mean Malfoy? As far as I know, you and your father hadn't much of a relationship since your mother's passing?"

Draco shrugged with a wry smirk, "Well that is a fact yes. But we do own Malfoy Enterprises together, so I know what is going on." He sat back in the chair to regard her intently while crossing an ankle on his knee. "As it is, the vaults are almost empty Granger… The post-war fines the Malfoy family had to pay were extreme, to say the least. We managed to keep afloat, but the funding father has been contributing to the Ministry — to you — has officially put us in the zero profit margins and is eating away at the little cash flow we maintained."

Draco stood up to pace the floor while running a tired hand through his sleep-tousled hair; Hermione felt the realisation of what he was saying seep over her befuddled mind. "We give work to over five hundred families across Europe. If we fold… well, I am sure you wouldn't want that on your conscious either. Father had to choose between love and money, only this money will save five hundred families. It will also continue your project funding. Father has been your only benefactor, Granger…"

Silence settled over them as Hermione absorbed what he was saying, the familiar dull ache throbbing in her head. "Are you saying that he chose her in order to save the company and continue funding my welfare projects for the werewolves and elves?"

Draco stopped to look at her intently. "Yes, he felt that your projects would be more important to your goals and long term happiness. And neither he nor I wanted to leave five hundred families without income. I might not have much of a relationship with him, but he is not a bad man Granger."

Hermione felt the pain in her chest intensify as she realised he had good intentions, and was still worthy of her heart. "Why didn't he just tell me that?" The whisper escaped her lips before she could bite it back.

"Granger… he — well…we, are not great in love. We Malfoys are shite in all matters of love. He thought it would be better if you hated him, and I will ask you to not let him know that I told you all this." He stepped to the bed and sat on the edge next to her, still keeping intensive eye contact.

She chose to lean back against the thickly padded headboard in exhaustion, at least she felt closure now. "Malfoy… I can't go back." Hermione cringed at the weakness she felt, her clingy voice disgusted her, yet she couldn't help her emotions.

She was surprised when a hand touched her shoulder tentatively, "I know Granger… I saw on the books that father bought the apartment for you… not sure how he convinced you, though." He smirked at her mischievously, and she responded with a roll of her eyes.

"Yes well, it wasn't without a massive argument or arguments… And now I feel even worse since I know he couldn't even afford it technically." Her shoulders drooped in defeat while Draco shook his head in denial.

"Trust me, the purchase of that measly apartment hardly caused a dent in the already failing financial structure of Malfoy Enterprises. Father tried to appease his guilt with the charities, and that was where the true drainage came from. So don't you blame yourself. Father made his own choices." He leaned forward and gave her a stiff hug, the discomfort between them obvious, and yet she returned the hug and somehow knew that their relationship would forever be altered now. "And you can stay here till you decide what you want to do with the apartment. I will have your personals collected later."

 **oOoOoOo**

In the weeks that followed, Hermione all but moved into the spare bedroom of Malfoy's townhouse, much to the surprise of her friends. They had all offered her space of course, but she couldn't bring herself to leave Malfoy's house. She didn't want to be the third wheel in her friend's households, and besides, somehow Malfoy was the only one that understood what she needed, and they soon developed a strange comradery.

But one snag made itself known by the time she had been living two weeks with Malfoy. A little complication that she was in no way prepared for.

She had been working long hours, first in and last out at the Ministry every day. It was her method of avoiding too much time with her own thoughts. It was also how she avoided the press and whispering, it appeared that the fact that war heroine, Hermione Granger, being involved in a secret relationship with ex-death eater, Lucius Malfoy, was considered highly scandalous. A week after her impromptu move in with Draco, the wedding date announcement was released for Malfoy Senior and Estelle Selwyn. It was for only six weeks away.

Hermione spent the most of that morning bent over the loo while spilling all her guts with the shock of the announcement. Only the shock of it didn't wear off, and she spent every morning throwing up after that day.

On the fourth Saturday AL, Hermione sat on the cold tiles of the bathroom in Draco's house, once more throwing up. It was as she was pressing her clammy cheek to the cool toilet seat that Draco found her.

His footsteps hurried over as he hunched down next to her. She felt his hand collecting her hair on top of her head as he tried to get it out of the way. "Merlin Granger, how long has this been going on?"

She lifted her head to grin at him in attempted humour; she, of course, knew already what was wrong with her. She was the brightest witch of her age after all. "Oh, this has been happening a week now Malfoy."

He scowled down at her, his own year points were right behind her, meaning he himself was almost just as smart as she, so she waited patiently as he added up and reached the logical conclusion. "Shite… you're pregnant."

With a seemingly bright smile, she nodded in confirmation, although he could see the smile was forced and didn't reach her eyes. Draco sat back on his bum in shock but managed to hold on to her bunched up hair still. Not a word passed between them anymore after that, even when she started heaving again. He merely kept his grip on her hair with one hand while he robotically stroked her back in comfort with his other.

 **oOoOoOo**

They quarreled for over four weeks about her pregnancy. Draco wanted to tell his father, but Hermione refused. Her reasoning was simple. His father was already sacrificing enough to save everyone that would be affected should Malfoy Enterprises go bankrupt, and she didn't want to add to that burden with a child.

She did truly love Lucius Malfoy. Just as she was slowly starting to care for his son as well. Hermione figured that it had something to do with the magnetism she had attributed to Lucius; it was apparently a Malfoy trait. Addiction.

Eventually, Draco conceded defeat, but it didn't bring them closer to what to do next. Draco didn't want the further scandal to the Malfoy name, and Hermione didn't know how to keep her child from Lucius in order to spare him that pain, short of resigning and moving to the continent.

Draco absolutely balked at that idea, the horror that was etched on his face had her almost succumbing to the giggles like a teenager. But it scrapped her idea of disappearing to the continent; Malfoy wouldn't let her go.

He felt that the coming baby was a Malfoy, and he kept to the one absolute rule that Malfoy's stuck together, no matter the circumstances. Hermione slowly came to the realisation of what needed to happen, and yet she had no idea how to broach that subject. How did you ask someone to marry you and claim his half sibling as his own child? Luckily for Hermione, apparently Draco had reached the same conclusion as she by the fourth week. It was now booked as week eight AL in her mental diary, the week before his nuptials to the sophisticated thirty-eight year old Estelle Selwyn.

However things may be, Hermione had returned to her old strong self, and she needed to do what was best for her coming child. And the best would be for the child to grow up with a father and family. She had spent the weeks really turning over all her options, and she had watched Draco. She had opened up to the old school rival and gotten to know him as much as she could, the spoiled bully was long since gone she had realised. She actually found herself slowly feeling alive again, the pain was there yes, but when Draco was being his witty sarcastic self she could almost forget the pain. She would find herself laughing at him and bickering along, and she had found that she was actually excited to come home to the younger Malfoy male.

His house started to feel like home, and she found that she liked that realisation.

They were both sitting around the kitchen island that Saturday morning while drinking their coffee and both reading their copy of the Saturday Prophet. "I do believe this is the first paper since everything happened that does not have any reference or mention to me or any Malfoy at all…"

Her voice was a bit distracted as she spoke without stopping her reading; Draco then lowered his own paper with a resolute expression and cleared his throat uncomfortably to gain her attention. Hermione looked up from where she had been reading her copy as it lay flat on the counter top.

"Listen, Granger, I have been wracking my brain about the… situation… and there really is only one thing that will let it work out favourably. For all concerned." He tried to shift himself more comfortably as he attempted to avoid her eyes.

Her silence prompted him to go on. "We have to get married… and I claim the baby as mine. We can say that we became friends while you and Father had your…thing. And when things broke down between you two, I comforted you and one thing led to another, and you got pregnant."

He was so uncomfortable that Hermione wanted to take pity on him by letting him know that she had reached the same conclusion, but he rushed on before she could open her mouth. He obviously thought he had to convince her.

"I mean, the genetics will be mostly the same, just minus the Black part, so I am sure looks wise the child will be convincingly ours. Also, then father can be part of his child's life without him ever being the wiser, and the child can grow up being the Malfoy it is. I will be the half-brother biologically, but I am sure if I raise it from birth, I will love it as my own child and not as a sibling…"

Hermione stood up and walked around the island to stand next to him. He glanced at her warily. Taking his face in her palms, she leaned forward to place a soft kiss on his mouth, then she rested her forehead against his, still cupping his cheeks. "Yes … Draco… I have learned to appreciate you and care for you. I trust love will follow eventually. And if you take care of this child as you have taken care of me these last six weeks, then I know this child and I will be loved."

He breathed a sigh of relief, and she felt him relax against her, their foreheads still resting against each other. "I care about you as well, Hermione, kind of always had a thing for you in all honesty…" he chuckled dryly at that, "I just know that when I found you that night, I —" A shudder ran through his body, and he lifted his hands to rest on her upper arms with a gentle grip. "— I don't know, I just know I never want to see you like that again. It wasn't right seeing Hermione Granger broken like that, and I knew that night that I had to get you to smile again. I will care for you and our child, Hermione. I promise you that."

She pressed her lips against his again, but this time it touched on being more than just a chaste kiss. It was soft and gentle and lasted for a few seconds. A slow burn started in her belly just as she cut off the kiss, a smile on her lips as she realised that love _would_ grow between them. All they ingredients for love were there in copious amounts already. She also didn't miss that he referenced the child as theirs; she and her child were in safe hands.

"And you did make me smile again, Draco… you get me to smile for real every day since I moved in here."

 **oOoOoOo**

The next Saturday found Hermione and Draco sitting next to each other in the front row seats as they witnessed the wedding ceremony between Lucius Malfoy and Estelle Selwyn. Their hands clasped tightly together as they leaned in against each other, and seeming to all the world to be a perfectly happy new couple. Only Draco knew the strained muscles that jumped on her shoulders. Only he knew the tremor that shuddered through her body when the final bonds were observed and absorbed into the older couple's clasped hands. Only Draco felt the pain of the death grip she had on his hand during the entire ceremony, making it feel like she was slowly breaking the little bones one by one.

He didn't falter, though.

To the world, he whispered sweet nothings in her ear, while in actual fact he was whispering silent encouragement, as she smiled seemingly approvingly at the couple being bonded before them. To the world, they were a new couple in love. And although the eyebrows were raised at their quick blossoming love after her disastrous affair with the Malfoy patriarch, it wasn't said aloud as they at least didn't do it secretly. Their public relationship seemed to garner more support as it was seen as them doing it honestly. The fact that he was also an ex-death eater was suspiciously not an issue this time. Perhaps because it was old news now since it was scandalised so much after the affair between her and Lucius? Or it could be the fact that Harry Potter had issued a statement that week to say that if anyone dared defame her character or choices further, they would meet the Boy Who Lived Twice personally in the courtroom in a lawsuit. Either way, the gossipers were decidedly a lot more positive with the news this time around. It had been a hectic week. They'd let it slip that they had been living together from almost right after her and Lucius' split and making appearances together to cement the story of their relationship. And in order to make it all truly real, Hermione had to be at the wedding as Draco's official girlfriend.

After the ceremony, Hermione stayed by Draco's side as he performed his duties as the son of the groom. Lucius avoided all eye contact with her and only nodded coolly and politely at her when she was introduced as Draco's girlfriend. Estelle didn't even sneer, in fact, she was rather polite and spared a quick smile for Hermione; it confused the younger witch completely. Maybe Estelle wasn't evil per se, just a true Slytherin that used cunning to achieve her wanted end? However it may, she would be the 'step-grandmother' of her child and therefore they would need to form some sort of truce. Also, her money was saving Malfoy Enterprises and all those workers, as well as continuing the funding for Hermione's welfare projects. As much as she wanted to hate the witch, she had to swallow it and be grateful for it, no matter how archaic she found these political and financially arranged marriages.

They stayed just long enough as was socially acceptable before they left for their home.

That night Hermione had snuck into Draco's room where she climbed in beneath his sheets completely naked. Their lovemaking was slow and soft. He brought her to bliss a few times that night with his gentle yet passionate ministrations. Afterward, she lay curled into his side without saying a word, and he remained quiet as well while the hand that was holding her against his side trailed softly up and down her arm.

Hermione knew she would sleep with him from that night on.

 **oOoOoOo**

Two months later, the announcement was published in the Daily Prophet that the Malfoy heir had married the war heroine, Hermione Granger, in a small, private ceremony attended only by their direct families and closest friends. The picture showed an obviously happily smiling Hermione as she was dancing with her new husband, the latter was looking down at his bride in an almost adoring way. Her hands were around his neck, and the picture loop showed her fingering his hair delicately. His hands were around her waist where a thumb caressed the skin of her open lower back; they were pressed flush against each other as they moved slowly to the song.

There was a certain emotion that was caught in the photograph that left no doubt in the minds of anyone that a tender love was between the two.

 **oOoOoOo**

Another article appeared in the Daily Prophet almost six months later, this time the picture showed Draco and Hermione Malfoy standing in the lobby of St Mungo's. Hermione was waving at the photographer while Draco had one arm securely around his wife's shoulders. Cradled in Draco Malfoy's other arm was a wrapped pink bundle that was held very gently by the obviously proud new father. The article read that the young couple welcomed their daughter, Lyra Hermione Malfoy, into the world the previous night.

Luckily for them, her pregnancy had gone overdue, which successfully squashed any quiet murmurings that were still being whispered behind closed doors.

 **oOoOoOo**

 _3 Years Later_

The birthday party for Lyra was held in the Malfoy Manor gardens that year. The three-year-old girl was running around trying to catch one of her grandfather's white peacocks, and that grandfather was chasing after the little girl in an attempt to distract her from his prize peacocks.

Hermione was sitting on the patio while cradling her sleeping son against her chest; Estelle sat next to her while casting constant cooling charms on herself. She was really struggling with the heat in her advanced state of pregnancy; Hermione felt sorry for the older witch.

They were waiting for all the guests to arrive as the party was only due to start in another half an hour — to kill the time until then, the family had decided to spend some time together. Hermione turned her attention back to her little girl. Her blonde curls were bouncing with her awkward toddler trot, and her grey eyes sparkled in glee as the game was changed. Now she was instead running away from her grandfather, Lucius played along laughingly. He adored Lyra.

Hermione noticed with a smile as the proud white peacocks slunk off quietly to the other side of the manor. They obviously knew an escape window when they saw one.

Her attention swiveled to the man who was leaning against a tree trunk at the back of the lawn; he was watching his daughter and her grandfather with a contemplative look on his face. A natural smile spread across her features as she studied the man she had married amidst great controversy three and a half years prior. Hermione stood up and gently placed the sleeping baby into his portable crib next to her as she addressed Estelle, "Will you keep an eye on Scorpius please, Estelle?"

At the other witch's nod and smile, Hermione made her way quietly toward her husband. As she reached him, she went to lean against the same tree but on the other side. They both watched their daughter and Lucius in silence for a few minutes.

"Do you regret it, Hermione? Especially when you see them like this?" His voice was quiet, almost unsure. So completely un-Malfoy.

Hermione angled to watch her husband next to her instead, peeking at him around the trunk. Draco followed suit, and they both studied each other for a few seconds, then a slow smile spread across her face.

"No… Lyra is our daughter, you are her father. Lucius is her grandfather." A matching smile slowly made its way onto her husband's face then. "And you, do you regret marrying me Granger?" he asked.

Hermione stepped around the trunk to lean into him, "No… I love you. Lucius chose money. Don't get me wrong, I understand why and I can never hold it against him. But still, he chose money. You chose me. And now I choose you… Three and a half years later, and I can honestly say you are the love of my life, Draco Malfoy. I will choose you every day forever more."

Their lips met in a lingering kiss that was so full of love that the energy of it could be felt by everyone around them at that moment. It was a forever kiss.

 **oOoOoOo**

A few meters away, Lucius had stopped chasing Lyra to look at his son and daughter in law. He saw them as they kissed each other lovingly and let the longing he felt momentarily flash in his eyes, he dreamed of that love she once bestowed on him, but he had to accept that she now bestowed that love, and more, on his son. At least his son deserved her; there weren't a lot of wizards that would raise their own father's child as their own… Yes, his son had made him more proud than he had ever been.

Lucius knew that Lyra was his biological child, he was a smart man and he could do math. Also, he knew Hermione, he would always love her and along with that love he could easily predict her character and subsequent choices. He knew she wouldn't have slept with his own son in rebound, which meant she didn't get pregnant by his son. She had already been pregnant when Draco comforted her, and they had decided to instead love each other and made sure his child was, even if only in the smallest way, a part of his life. But he had to bury that love for the younger witch, for he was the Malfoy patriarch, and therefore he had been raised to make sacrifices for the greater good of the family and the family responsibilities. Lucius shuttered his eyes once more and returned his attention toward his child again; he lived for these moments he could have with his daughter, for later he would have to remember that she can only ever be his granddaughter.

Laughing buoyantly, Lucius Malfoy picked up the squealing toddler as he blew raspberries against her chubby pale cheeks.

Her happy laughter carried over the lawns in adulated joy of all the love she received from her grandfather on her third birthday.

 _ **The End**_

* * *

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	4. The Contract

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: The Contract**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Triggers: Suicide Attempt**

 **Warnings: Language**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **The Contract**

* * *

 **July 7, 2003**

The dark blue potion sat stationary on the nightstand, silently mocking him. He paced the room, running his shaking fingers through his short brown locks as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. There was a pressure building in his chest. It was tightening, coiling, and practically _crushing_ him. He couldn't think. He couldn't _breathe_. He just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't go through with it. He would never be good enough, never be the son he should be, the son his father wanted him to be.

No.

He was just a disappointment. A puppet. A means to an end. He would never make him proud. He just wasn't enough. No matter what, he _wasn't_ _enough_.

It wasn't enough that his face was splashed all over the monthly serial magazine _The Quidditch Pitch._ It wasn't enough that he was the best player the Tutshill Tornadoes had seen in years it wasn't enough that he was a household name all over the globe that children and adults alike had his autographed posters up on their walls. None of it was enough because Quidditch wasn't in the Nott family master plan.

His father's voice echoed in his head. " _It's time to stop playing in the sandbox, Theodore. You have had your fun. It's time to come home and leave your childhood whimsy behind._ "

"Childhood whimsy." He laughed.

Yes, of course. That's all it was. All the years of hard work, all the conditioning, and training, amounted to absolutely fuck all. At least according to Tobias Nott. The only thing his son could do to gain approval was to don a suit and impeccable robes and join the family business as a partner.

His father might as well be asking him to sign his sanity away. Stuffy offices and even stuffier clientele were not what he would call a good time. He needed freedom. He needed to feel the wind in his hair and on his face. He needed the fragrance of freshly cut grass and newly polished brooms in his nose. He needed the view of clouds and crowds in his line of sight. He needed the taste of victory on his tongue. He needed Quidditch like he needed air in his lungs.

" _You will give your manager your retirement notice immediately._ " The elder Nott demanded. " _This will be your last season. You need to focus on the business and starting a family of your own_."

 _No. No. No._

He didn't want that. He didn't _want_ to start a family. He didn't _want_ to marry some random witch or treat a marriage like a business deal. He wasn't done yet. He wasn't finished with this part of his life. There was so much more he wanted to do before he retired his broom and settled down.

" _I'm not quitting, father_." He'd said. " _I refuse. So, you can go ahead and denounce me or whatever it is you need to do, but I'm not quitting Quidditch and I'm not getting married._ "

" _Oh, son. How naive. Of course, you are. You do not have a choice in the matter. It's in the contract you signed years ago before you started in this endeavor._ "

Horror had stolen his breath as he remembered exactly what his father had meant. " _I was seventeen when I signed that! And I didn't know what it meant_!"

" _You were of legal age according to wizard law and it was a blood oath. So, the fact that you didn't take the time to understand what you were signing is on your head, son. I will not allow you to back out. You will be a partner in Nott Inc. by next spring._ "

He was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. His life was over. Everything that happened after this could hardly be called living. He'd be dead inside. He'd be an empty shell; just a marionette controlled by his father. A stud for sale _. A pawn._

His eyes landed on the potion he'd procured in Knockturn alley earlier in the night. He refused to let his father win, but the only way he could see that happening was for him to take himself off the board. He snatched the bottle from the nightstand and popped open the top. "Let's see you make a play of this." He muttered, tipping his head back and letting the bitter liquid slide down his throat.

 **oOoOoOo**

The first time he awoke it was to a needle being stuck into his arm and his dark blood being drawn into it.

 _So, alive then._ His tired mind mused _. Pity._

The healers were buzzing about around him and someone was asking him questions. His thoughts were fuzzy and his mouth was dry but he tried to answer them. He tried to tell them what he took but the extreme fatigue won out again before he could.

 **oOoOoOo**

The second time he awoke it was too worried voices talking in the doorway. He couldn't pick out what was being said but he knew his mother was there. He tried to make a noise or give some indication that he was ok. He didn't want his mother to worry but he couldn't get his brain to form the words. He lost consciousness a moment later.

 **oOoOoOo**

The last time he awoke it was to an angry Hermione Granger staring down at him. "How bloody stupid are you, Nott?" She hissed, arms folded across her chest. "Your mother is a mess and the team is about to tear the waiting room apart to get a glimpse of you. What the hell were you thinking?"

 _I wasn't._ He wanted to say. _I just couldn't deal with it anymore._ But what came out of his uncooperative mouth was, "Just sod off."

She gave him a disappointed look. " _Fine_. I will be back in the morning." He could hear the frustration in her voice as she fluffed up his pillow. "Try not to die before then."

"No promises," he muttered. She shook her head and turned to leave. He wondered if that was really it, if she'd actually given up and was going to leave it at that, but she opened the door and didn't look back.

 **July 9, 2003**

The sound of heels clicking on hard flooring roused him from his deep and troubled sleep. It was morning.

"Theo." A dainty, yet stern voice called his name somewhere at the end of his bed. "Wake up."

Curtains were thrown open and light spilled into the room, landing right on his face. "The fuck, Granger?" He huffed, rubbing his burning eyes with his palms as he sat up. "I thought I told you not to bloody bother me?"

The frazzled witch gave him a heated glare and tossed copies of The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly on his bed. "Sorry for disturbing your precious sleep your royal pain in my arse, but we've got to get in front of this thing."

He frowned, picking up the paper first and zoning in on a picture of himself passed out and being flooed to St. Mungo's with a headline scrawled atop it.

 _BREAKING!_

 _Quidditch Star, Theodore Nott, found unresponsive in a hostel!_

 _Potion Overdose suspected!_

 _Will this be the end of his Quidditch career?_

 _Find out more inside!_

Witch Weekly wasn't any better.

 _Juicy News of the Week!_

 _Keeper of Tutshill Tornadoes found unconscious in hotel room_

 _just days before the tournament._

 _Was this a pre-celebration gone too far?_

 _Or were the pre-game nerves getting the best of him?_

 _Either way his future in the sport looks grim._

Damn. He hadn't thought anyone would have found him so soon. He hadn't expected to be there to deal with the press circus. He hadn't planned this at all. "Shit."

"Shit indeed." She said, giving him a disapproving look. "The tabloids are even worse. Do you know what they're saying?" He shook his achy head. He didn't really want to know. "Not only are you a _party boy_ now, but they are saying you were found with a hooker. A _hooker, Theo_. You were strung out and paying for sex."

"I did _not_ have a hooker." He laughed condescendingly.

"Doesn't matter. It is what Skeeter believes so it will be what the public believes too." She took a seat next to the hospital bed.

He groaned and laid back down. His head was still swimming and the IV in his arm itched. "I'm sorry, alright? I just….."

"Theo, you are twenty-five. You're a bloody role model. You're too old for these drinking and potion benders. It would be a different story five years ago, but this really could ruin your career."

"Maybe I don't care. Let it be ruined." It didn't matter. His father was going to ruin it anyway.

"As your PR I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." She retorted, letting out an annoyed huff.

"But?" He probed.

"But as your _friend_ ," she emphasized, "I'm worried. You're not a partier. The most you've done in the last four years is have a glass of wine with dinner or a drink of firewhiskey when you're out with the team. _You don't get high._ So, what happened?"

He looked away from her, his face flushing with heat. How was he supposed to tell her his true intentions?

"The doctor said it was a mix of Belladonna and Water Hemlock." She continued, her voice going soft. "Each on their own would achieve a pretty decent high in small doses, but together…." She grabbed his hand and he looked at her. "The only reason someone takes that particular combination is to make sure they never wake up. _Please_ tell me you didn't intentionally seek it out? Please tell me it was an accident and that you really were just trying to get high and bought it from a shady potioneer?"

"I can't." He admitted quietly, his eyes meeting hers. "I knew exactly what I was buying." He watched as tears gathered in the corners of her brown eyes and he suddenly felt like the biggest piece of shit to ever live.

"Why?"

He sighed, "Nothing I say is going to make what I did any better."

"I don't care. If I know the reason I might be able to keep it from happening again."

"I'm not your responsibility, Granger." He snapped unintentionally.

She looked murderous. "That is a hell of a thing to say to me. Theo. _I_ was the one that walked into that room and found your lifeless body. I thought you were _dead_! How do you think that made me feel?"

He felt sick. He hadn't thought that far into the future. He hadn't thought of the other people in his life that would be devastated. He honestly hadn't meant to hurt her. He hadn't meant to do any of it, but that was almost worse. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, ok? I will not do it again."

"But _why_ did you do it in the first place?"

"It was out of _pettiness_." He admitted. "It was out of anger and desperation. I wanted to make him suffer. I wanted to get back at my _father_ for trying to take away my independence. I hate him for taking away my choices. So, I wanted to _hurt_ him, make him regret everything he ever said or did to me, but I forgot….I forgot who else I'd be hurting."

She squeezed his hand. "Alright. Obviously this...this _attempt_ will not be repeated. So, you have to ask, what happened between you and Tobias?"

He rubbed his eyes. "I signed a contract with him, and apparently the company, when I was seventeen. I had just graduated from Hogwarts and told him I'd been scouted by the Tornadoes. He told me I could join the team if I made it, but I had to sign a contract before he'd allow me to try out. I was so excited I would have done anything. I didn't realize what I was signing."

"Oh, Theo, no." She looked stricken.

"Yeah, I signed my life away. It is a contract stating that I'm to be a part of the company by my twenty-sixth birthday and must be married and have an heir by my thirtieth," he told her, his breath hitching. The feelings he had the night before, or was it two nights ago now, coming back.

The panic was rising again. Marriage. Children. Black pants. Ties. Meetings. Closed rooms. _Marriage. Children._

"Theo, breathe. It's ok. We will fix this." Cool fingers and thumbs rubbed against his cheeks and the side of his face. "We'll fix it, ok?"

He grabbed her hand and held it. He needed her to ground him. "We can't fix it, Hermione. It's a blood contract. Magical. Binding. He has me."

She got the familiar look of concentrated scheming. She was shuffling through everything she'd ever read about magical contracts in her head. There was a reason she was on his management team. She didn't fuck around."Well, we'll see about that."

 **oOoOoOo**

 **July 12, 2003**

"So, what are they saying about me in the paper today?" Theo asked, sipping from his coffee cup. He was sitting at his breakfast table as Hermione made eggs on the stove.

"Oh, the usual. You've gone off the deep end over a breakup. The pressure of the game got to you. You've actually been an addict for awhile, you just hid it well. And the witch group _Mother's Against the Influence_ have been boycotting and signing petitions for your dismissal. Because obviously, you're making their children do illicit drugs." She sighed dramatically. "Then, there's the theory that it was an experimental drug to increase your output on the field."

"Well that's inventive." He noted.

"I think we have Pavarti to thank for that one." She rolled her eyes and flipped the egg.

He raised a brow and smirked into his cup. "Hmmm. How _are_ the Patil sisters doing these days?"

"Sorry to break it to you, Nott, but they're too much for you to handle."

"I don't think you're giving me enough credit." He pouted.

She looked over her shoulder. "I'm giving you plenty of credit."

They were quiet for a moment and she piled some eggs onto his plate. "There is one tabloid that got the list of ingredients, though."

His stomach dropped. "Let me guess, Rita Skeeter?"

She made a gesture with her finger. "Got in one."

Great. "Will it affect your plans?" he asked, taking a bite and swallowing.

"No," The witch replied. "Actually, if we play our cards right it may help us."

"How could it possibly _help_ us?"

"Well, let's ask ourselves, _Why_ would Theodore Nott, Quidditch Keeper and star want to commit suicide?"

He just stared blankly at her. "Because his father is an arsehole that wants to ruin his life?"

She shook her head. "While the truth is rather alarming in itself, it won't garner enough outrage or attention for anyone important to care. You will either be seen as a pureblood with a rebellious streak, or a sell out that fell back on daddy's money when it got too tough."

"Fuck that!" He hissed. "I'm _not_ a bloody sellout."

" _I_ know that, and the _team_ knows that, but the rest of the Wizarding World doesn't. So, I need them to really care, really get interested in your life if we want to get help. We need them involved and obsessed with the outcome of your story. Having daddy issues is not scandalous enough." She smiled and took a bite. " _So_ , why would _Theodore Nott_ want to take a Deadly Hemlock potion?"

"Because he feels trapped?"

The grin she flashed him rivaled that of Draco Malfoy's when she said, " _Because_ his father got angry and threatened him with an outdated pureblood contract when he fell in love with a muggle-born."

The planets aligned and the universe rejoiced as the words sunk in. This was perfect! If everyone believed his father was forbidding him from marrying someone he loved and was forcing his hand with a contract, they'd want to find a way to stop it. They'd want to see Theo stand up to his pureblood supremacist father.

Circe, she had really figured it out. "Granger," he smiled, "you really should have been in Slytherin."

 **oOoOoOo**

 **July 16, 2003**

Theo cringed when the stack of papers was thrust into his hand by one of Granger's aides. "Where's boss lady?" He asked her.

The younger witch pushed the rim of her rectangular glasses up higher on her nose as she replied. "She is having a meeting with your coach, sir."

"Ah," He managed to feel a little sorry for the bloke. Hermione was an amazing PR but Coach Hemsworth had always had a turbulent relationship with the witch. "Well, I suppose I should do my homework then." He replied, lifting the papers and giving them a good shake.

The aide poured him a cup of coffee and he sat at the table to look over the news of the day.

 _ **The Daily Prophet**_

 _Last week's drug overdose revealed to_ _be a_

 _suicide attempt by Quidditch Star, Theodore Nott._

 _What could have caused him to take_

 _such drastic measures?_

 _See more inside!_

 _ **The Quidditch Pitch**_

 _This weekend's potion_

 _overdose revealed_

 _to be a suicide attempt._

 _Community shocked and_

 _fans outraged._

 _What will this mean_

 _for upcoming matches?_

 _ **Healthy, Loving, Living**_

 _Belladonna and Hemlock were used in a Quidditch star's recent suicide attempt. It brings attention to the fact that this combination of plants is easily obtained. Should there be regulations on such ingredients? Or will our young people continue getting their hands on this deadly potion, ending their promising lives?_

He rolled his eyes when he read the last article. "Well, it's nice to know they are using what I did to save the youths of the world at least."

 **oOoOoOo**

 **July 17, 2003**

There was a calmness that overcame him as he buttoned up his shirt. He was about to air out his father's dirty laundry, so he thought he'd be nervous, but he wasn't. He felt hopeful and excited for the first time in a long time. Talking to the press would allow them to tell their story the way they wanted it to be told. It helped that they were sticking mostly to the truth, but playing up his father's prejudiced past was definitely going to help.

"You ready?" Hermione asked from the other side of the door.

He gave himself a once over and replied, "As ready as I'll ever be."

 _ **The Daily Prophet**_

 _Breaking!_

 _CEO and owner of Nott Inc., Tobias Nott_

 _threatens famous son with archaic marriage contract_

 _after bringing home muggle-born lover._

 _Who said blood prejudices had died?_

 _Not the elder Nott, that's for sure._

 _ **Witch Weekly**_

 _Will the prejudices of old_

 _get in the way of new love?_

 _Or will love conquer_

 _all at the end of this tale?_

 _Follow the story here._

It was two in the afternoon when Theo heard the cursing from his fireplace. He wanted to kick himself in the arse. He'd forgotten to block his father from the floo network.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Tobias hissed, throwing the early editions of the daily prophet at his son as soon as he stepped foot into the room. His whole body was practically shaking with rage as he stared him down. "Since when have you been seeing anyone in more than a social setting? You haven't shown interest in anything other than that damn sport for years, and you expect me, expect the people, to believe this drivel?"

"Which part of it is drivel?" He asked smugly. "The part where I'm in love with a muggle born? Or the part where you've been painted as the bigot you have been and always will be?"

The older wizard's face brightened in rage. "How dare you go to the press with this! You don't know what you've done!"

He shook his head and struggled to keep the terrified yet giddy feeling in gut from showing. "On the contrary, father. I know exactly what I've done." He picked up the scattered pages and shuffled them, giving his hands something to do as he gathered up his courage. "I've practically guaranteed myself a legitimate case against your ridiculous and semi illegal business the everyone thinks one of their favorite Quidditch players is being held back and unable to be with the one he loves over an outdated practice, they'll demand something be done. You've lost your power over me."

Tobias clenched his hands into fists and breathed deeply. "You'll regret this, Theodore."

"No," the man insisted, "I don't think I will."

"Theo-"

"Goodnight father." He said, cutting him off. "You know the way out."

He heard a string of curses as he retreated to his bedroom. He'd be happy once this was all over.

 **oOoOoOo**

 **July 19, 2003**

There was laughter on the training field when Theo showed up for practice for the first time since the incident. Jasper Ross, the team's seeker and self-proclaimed playboy, slapped him on the back. "So, I heard your old man is losing business over his bigotry."

"Is he?" He asked unconcerned as he laced up his boots. "I hadn't heard."

"Yeah, looks like Britain is getting behind you on this." Another teammate piped up. "So, are've got more than just us rooting for you."

It made him smile. "Good. I'll need all the help I can get."

 **oOoOoOo**

 **July 20, 2003**

 _ **The Daily Prophet**_

 _Daddy Dearest Denies Dispute_

 _The patriarch of the Nott family denied having any discourse_

 _with his adult son, stating it has been a misunderstanding._

 _Is it really a case of miscommunication,_

 _or has the backlash made him change his tune_?

"First things first. We are getting you a solicitor." Hermione announced when she barged into Theo's small one bedroom flat the morning after his father's wizarding stocks began to fall. It had become an almost daily occurrence since he'd arrived home from the hospital. If it wasn't _her_ parked on his couch it was one of her employees, usually

Terry Boot, that was stalking his every move. He didn't know if his friend was concerned that he'd try to off himself again, or if she were just worried about press related affairs, but it was getting ridiculous. They barely left him alone long enough to get in a good wank, and that just wasn't right!.

He raised a brow. "And who do you have in mind?"

"Oh, I think you know." Hermione grinned, shuffling around his living room..

Knowing her she had researched the best solicitors in Wizarding Britain. There were a few that came to mind but one stuck out like a sore thumb and she was crazy enough to go for it. "Draco?"

"Precisely." She replied, writing down something in her notebook. "He's the best for a reason, so I suppose we're lucky he's one of your chums from school, aren't we?"

"I want to say yes, but how do you know he'll actually do it?"

"I don't really," she shrugged, "But Malfoy is anything if not an ego maniac. He'll absolutely love the publicity, especially when he wins. No one has ever attempted to get a magical contract annulled. He'll be making history."

 **oOoOoOo**

 **July 21, 2003**

"So are you going to take my case, or just sit there with your mouth hanging open?"

The man behind the desk pulled himself together and looked between the two of them. "My apologies, Theo. I was just taken aback. I never expected you to be asking for my services. Especially regarding the circumstances."

"And what is that supposed to mean, Malfoy?" Hermione glared at the blonde, clearly expecting some type of altercation. "Can't stand the idea of one of your best mates involved with someone like me?"

A frown twisted his features."Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, Granger. I wasn't insinuating anything of the sort. I just find the two of you make a rather interesting pair. Not to mention you are a part of his public relations team. This is more than just some random witch he hooked up with." He said, giving her a discerning look. "So I'm going to assume this relationship is a ruse you've cooked up to save his Quidditch career and get him out of Nott Sr.'s clutches."

"Well, you wouldn't be wrong." She admitted, looking over her shoulder at Theo. "It was the only plausible thing I could think of."

"You weren't called the brightest witch of our year for nothing." He sighed, rising from his chair and moving around the desk to stand in front of them. "I'd be happy to take the case." He said, extending his hand to shake Theo's and then Hermione's. "I look forward to the nuptials."

 **oOoOoOo**

 **July 22, 2003**

 **The Daily Prophet**

 _Draco Malfoy,_

 _of Malfoy and Associates,_

 _named Solicitor in the controversial_

 _Nott vs Nott MC case._

 **oOoOoOo**

 **July 23, 2003**

Rita Skeeter chewed on the end of her new pen as she waited with the other journalists and reporters outside Malfoy and Associates. They were all there to get their scoop so as soon as someone spotted pale blonde hair chaos erupted.

Draco Malfoy and one of his partners, Blaise Zabini, opened the door to address the anxious crowd and were met with busy chatter.

"Mr. Malfoy, what can you tell us about your client's chances of breaking the contract?" Someone yelled from behind her.

"Nothing at this moment. Everything is being handled privately."

She waited for one more person to talk over her before she practically shoved her way to the front. "Mr. Malfoy, How hopeful are you that you can win this case? It's never been done before?"

His irritation was evident but he smiled through it. "All I can say, Miss Skeeter, is that my team and I will work tirelessly around the clock to find any and all loopholes in Mr. Nott's contract. We remain hopeful that it can be broken and I have yet to find a case I haven't won."

 **oOoOoOo**

 **August 2, 2003**

As far as Theo knew everything was going well. Draco kept him updated on any progress they achieved and practice kept him busy. The only thing he wasn't quite sure of was Hermione Granger. Before the scandal they'd been close, he couldn't not be close as she'd been his PR for the last three years, but after his suicide attempt, she'd scarcely left his side. He'd seen her in a whole new light, and he didn't mean just the fact he'd now seen her in her pajamas and her hair a mess of tangles. He'd seen her less professional side. He'd seen her compassionate side. He'd seen her soft and fuzzy side and likewise she'd seen his. They'd had more personal talks in the last few weeks than they'd had in their history of knowing each other. And as much as he had began enjoying her company, he was starting to wonder why it was affecting him so much.

He could be looking too deep into things but he was starting to think he fancied her.

 **oOoOoOo**

 **August 3, 2003**

It was official. He fancied her.

His mother had insisted that the three of them have tea together, and while that wasn't exactly the oddest request he'd ever had from him mother, it was a bit strange for her to ask him to bring Hermione. When the witch excused herself to use the loo he'd found out why.

His mother quietly told him that she hoped the rumors were true and that they were about the two of them. She couldn't get over the image of a distraught Hermione Granger pacing the hallway outside of his hospital room. She'd confided that the two of them had bonded over their mutual disdain for his primary Healer and their equally worried minds. He had scared them and they had held each other's hands through the worst of it.

It had taken all of ten minutes for it to fully sink in. He'd known he'd worried Hermione. He'd known he'd hurt her. He'd known she was upset and never wanted to see him that way again, but the thought of her pacing the halls of St. Mungos and holding his mother's hand nearly broke him. It may just be a deep sense of friendship on her part, but for him, something else was taking root. Something deeper and more meaningful than just professionalism or friendship. He felt...light and heavy in his chest at the same time. It was something that he'd never experienced before but he wanted to get lost in the feeling.

 **oOoOoOo**

 **August 4, 2003**

 _ **Witch Weekly**_

 _Marriage Woes!_

 _What will happen to Theo Nott?_

 _Will he be forced to fulfill a barbaric contract_

 _He signed as a minor,_

 _or will he find a way to be with the love of his life?_

 **oOoOoOo**

 **August 9, 2003**

The best night of his life started out just like any other night. He'd gone to practice that morning and had eaten a healthy lunch just like he normally did on Friday's. He cleaned his flat, took a shower, and even planned on going to bed early but that plan was shot when his team mates let themselves in and dragged him out to a pub because he needed to "relax" and then proceeded to order him shot after shot of fire whiskey, not that he minded too much. The publicity had been getting to him after all. It wasn't too long after that his PR team and a few friends from Hogwarts had shown up after being owled, and yeah maybe he'd been the one that sent the owls, but so what? It had gotten them all there and he felt like he needed to see them all.

Hermione hadn't even questioned him and even started throwing a few back as the night wore on. The two of them ended up on the dancefloor at some point, dancing, and laughing their worries away and if they ended up glued to each other's hips and making inside jokes while getting touchy feely, no one cared enough to say anything. They also didn't care enough to stop them from flooing home together.

He didn't care enough to stop himself either.

 **oOoOoOo**

 **August 10, 2003**

 _ **The Daily Prophet**_

 _Theo Nott seen with mystery girl._

 _Is this the evasive witch at the_

 _center of all the rumors?_

 _ **Witch Weekly**_

 _Who stole the heart of Tornadoes Keeper, Theodore Nott?_

 _Was it a fan, a friend from school, or a lucky acquaintance?_

 _No one knows for sure, but we do have our theories._

 _Read More inside!_

"Yes, who did steal my heart I wonder?" Theo asked rhetorically as a tired and restless Hermione pulled her blouse down over her head.

"Not now, Theo." She grumbled, checking her neck for love bites in her compact mirror. "I can't...we shouldn't have done that."

"I don't see why not." He sighed, sitting up in bed and staring at her. "I did supposedly start this fued with my father over you. Are you regretting that idea already?"

"No, of course not. But while I still agree it was the best course of action, what we did last night...well it wasn't the smartest thing we've ever done."

"It wasn't the worst thing we could've done though." He pointed out. "Why ruin a good thing? I thought we both wanted it? I thought we both had fun?"

She groaned and turned to face him. "That's the point, Theo. We did have fun. But that's not...it's not how I wanted it to happen."

Anxiety coursed through him. If she hadn't...if he'd somehow taken advantage of the situation he'd never forgive himself. "What do you mean?" He finally asked, his stomach turning.

She put her face in her hands and refused to look at him. "I didn't want to have a drunken one off with you. I wanted…"

His heart stuttered in his chest. Did that mean what he thought it did? "You wanted…" He trailed off, making her finish.

"I wanted it to mean something more."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "It did mean something more to me. It just took a bit of firewhiskey for me to strike up the nerve to actually go after you. I thought…" He paused and breathed deeply. "I thought you'd never give me the chance. I thought we were just friends and I didn't want to ruin that. But maybe I already did. Maybe I've already ruined everything."

He thought he saw tears in her eyes before she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a warm embrace. "You haven't ruined anything."

 **oOoOoOo**

 **August 17, 2003**

It had been easy at first, hiding their real relationship behind their fake one, but as soon as the touches became more intimate and their kisses less careful, the cat was out of the bag. The team all laughed and said they'd been making bets on when the two of them would hook up for the last year and Draco just rolled his eyes when they'd told him. He'd known from the moment they came to him that they had the hots for each other, or so he so said.

The only one who was a bit surprised was his mother, but only because she thought her son would never work up the nerve to ask the girl out. In the end the revelations were rather anti-climatic. After that they stopped trying to hide it.

It definitely made the journalists happy.

 _ **Witch Weekly**_

" _I'm just a normal bloke that wants what every wizard wants, a soulmate." -Theodore Nott quotes when asked what he wants out of this summer's chaos._

 _This wizard is down to earth and very likable, a deep contrast to his surly father._ _The Daily Prophet_ _has high hopes that someone will find a way for this story to have a happy ending._

 **oOoOoOo**

 **August 21, 2003**

An owl tapped incessantly on his bedroom window, waking him from a great night's sleep. It was Draco's eagle owl and he immediately rose from the bed.

 _Theo, it is imperative that you and Granger meet me at my office at your earliest convenience. I've found something that would interest the both of you greatly._

 **oOoOoOo**

 **August 22, 2003**

 _ **The Solicitor Times**_

 _There's been a possible breakthrough in the M.C case we've been covering in recent weeks. Solicitor Draco Malfoy is making a name for himself as he tackles the long and hard process of magical contract breaking. If he succeeds he could be listed in the record books as being one of the best, and most innovated, solicitors in wizarding history._

 **oOoOoOo**

 **August 29, 2003**

"I'm taking your mother out today." Hermione announced enthusiastically. "We need to make she is seen in high spirits and add a little bit of fuel to the rumor mill fire."

Theo nodded and kissed her cheek. "Have fun, love."

"I plan to." She replied, smiling wildly.

 **oOoOoOo**

 **August 30, 2003**

 _ **Witch Weekly**_

 _Hermione Granger has been spotted accompanying_

 _Madame Marjorie Nott on extravagant shopping spree._

 _Could the PR director be the young Nott's mystery woman?_

 **oOoOoOo**

 **September 1, 2003**

 _ **The Solicitor Times**_

 _Just in time for the new school year. Good news arises._

 _Draco Malfoy holds press conference_

 _Has the notorious marriage_

 _contract been broken?_

 _ **The Daily Prophet**_

 _An angry Tobias Nott spotted outside of The Three Broomsticks._

 _It seems the news of his contract's impending_

 _annulment has reached his ears._

 _What will the elder Nott do next?_

 _ **Witch Weekly**_

 _Wizarding Britain rejoices!_

 _Quidditch star finally free from the burdensome contract._

 _Hopefully there will be wedding bells in the near future._

"Hmmmmm." Theo smirked into Hermione's naked shoulder. "What do you think?"

"What do I think about what?" She asked coyly.

"Do you think there will be wedding bells in our near future?"

She kissed him gently. "I guess we'll just have to find out."

* * *

 **Review Preference: Any**

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	5. A Cruel Intention

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: A Cruel Intention**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Triggers: Relationship that could be viewed as Incest**

 **Warnings: Violence, Sexual Content, Language**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **A Cruel Intention**

* * *

Pansy Parkinson glided across the crowded ballroom, revelling in her success. She had organised this fundraiser, ostensibly to raise money for war orphans, not that the guests here gave a damn about them any more than she did. They just wanted a party and she was happy to provide. The fact that it helped the reputation she was trying to build as one of the good guys was really just a bonus.

Approaching the fundraising table, she saw Thorfinn Rowle throwing a couple of galleons into a cauldron already half full of coins and leaned close by to his ear,

"Do the Ministry know you still have a Crushing Cabinet stashed away in your house, Finnie?"

He grimaced, pulling a drawstring purse from within his robes, and dumped it ungraciously into the cauldron.

"Good boy," Pansy patted him on the shoulder, "Don't forget, it's for the children," she pouted, before continuing on her tour of the room.

She nodded at the photographer she always paid to attend these type of events. It was an investment that was often richly rewarded. She had tipped him off to try and get some pictures of Ludo Bagman carrying on his illegal gambling, on the camera he kept concealed about his person. As well as using them as leverage to help convince him to part with his cash, it was always useful to have a celebrity in your pocket.

At last, she caught the flash of blonde that alerted her to the very person she had been looking for. She pulled up her elbow length black gloves and adjusted the front of her emerald green ball gown to show off her assets to their best advantage before frowning at the pretty young witch who was dancing with the subject of her attention.

"Stepbrother," she smirked, as the witch scurried off, allowing her to take her place.

Draco grasped one of her hands and slid his other arm around her waist, snapping her body against his, his eyes drawn to the swell of her breasts above her gown.

"I do wish you wouldn't call me that, it's so pervy," he murmured, his lips against her ear.

"It's not my fault mummy dearest couldn't keep her legs together for five minutes while Lucius was doing his time,"

"Nor is it mine that your father couldn't help himself sniffing round for a new woman to warm his bed before your mother's side had even cooled."

Pansy nodded in acquiescence, her scarlet slicked lips curved into a smile, "Well thank you for finding the time to attend my little soiree, I would've thought you would have been at the Quidditch final, seeing as you have a vested interest in the captain of the Holyhead Harpies."

"Amelia? I ditched her this morning – I've got a hundred galleon bet on Puddlemere United to win. Poor girl looked like she'd be crying too hard to see the snitch if it flew in front of her face. I don't bet that kind of money unless I can make sure the odds are in my favour."

Pansy nodded her approval, her hand roving down over the front of his robes, "Meet me in my bedroom, ten minutes."

Malfoy watched her sweep from the room and up the grand staircase without a backwards glance, grateful for the roominess of dress robes to hide his embarrassment.

When he pushed open the door, he found Pansy deeply concentrating on reading a book. He would have found this suspicious in the usually unscholarly witch, even if she hadn't been naked save her satin gloves, a thong and ridiculously high heels. He swallowed down the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat and forced himself to lounge in the chair that had been positioned in the centre of the room – he knew how Pansy loved to set up her little tableaux and how it was almost always to his advantage to play along.

She pretended to read the book for another minute or two; long enough for him to grow tired of ogling even her exquisite arse, and become impatient for the main event.

"What is it Pans?" He sighed eventually, knowing she hated the shortening of her name as much as he hated being reminded of their familial ties. She looked up, as though surprised, and strutted over to him slowly, allowing him to drink in every detail of her.

She straddled his lap, gripping onto the back of the chair with each hand.

"I'm frustrated," she whined, pouting her lips out and giving him puppy dog eyes. Merlin, if it wasn't for the hot feel of her sex grinding against his rapidly hardening cock, he would have laughed, "Things aren't going my way and I'm finding it very….frustrating," she punctuated the word with a roll of her hips, jutting her breasts towards him.

"Can't your boyfriend do something about it?" Draco asked, as he kissed a line from her collarbone down to her nipple.

"It's his fault," she hissed, her eyes narrowing, "Honestly, if it wasn't for his connections I would have dropped him like a stone weeks ago. That and the fact he's hung like a horse. It's taken me months to get his stupid family to start to like me, and just as I started to get close to his sister, well; I assume you've seen the Prophet today,"

Draco's hands took over where his mouth had been occupied, "Yes, Harry Potter goes off for another hopeless mission to search for dark artefacts, which may involve camping in a tent for many long months with his best friend, confirmed bachelor, Ron Weasley. Ginny Weasley heartbroken as he calls off romance again. Bad luck - you didn't even get a mention,"

"Exactly! All this effort, trying to get close to Potter, shagging his idiot ginger pal, wasted. It would have helped my fundraising efforts so much to have Harry Potter figureheading my cause,"

"And further aid your reputation as a do-gooder and get everyone to forget the fact that you were happy to hand the boy who lived over to the Dark Lord. So with the Weasel gone, you've got blue balls, is that it?"

Pansy laughed coldly, "That's the least of it. He's dumped the little sister on me while he goes off gallivanting and I cannot tell you how irritating it is to have her cluttering up the place. But there's something else. He stayed over before he left and….well…he was obviously having a dream," Pansy scowled, "He kept saying _her_ name. It wasn't the first time either. And seeing as he isn't around to cut his bollocks off, I feel like I should settle for ruining everything he cares about," she looked thoroughly put out.

"So you're just jealous? Your pretty little nose been put out of joint by the Gryffindor Princess?" he tapped his finger onto Pansy's nose that, with the aid of a lot of very expensive and very secret muggle plastic surgery, was now more like a perfect button than the pug-like proboscis she had sported at school.

"Jealous? Of her? A buttoned up, prematurely aged spinster, who spends every spare minute rebuilding that old ruin of a school! Teaching Defence against the Dark Arts to a load of little shits who wouldn't even know dark magic if it bit them on the arse. The way Ron used to cum within ten seconds of me sucking his dick, I bet she's frigid,"

Draco couldn't help the snort of derisive laughter that escaped his lips, although he regretted it instantly, knowing that the jealous witch on his lap would make him pay for it.

"You don't agree Malfoy?" she asked sharply, leaning away from him.

"Don't forget, I've been on the receiving end of Granger's hot temper. I bet she's a feisty little minx when she wants to be."

He slipped his hands behind her back, massaging her shoulders, digging into that little spot she liked and she soon melted back against him

"Oh, you bet do you? How much?

"What?" Draco laughed in disbelief.

"Would you bet your broom? That you could unbutton the prissy Miss Granger?"

"And what would I get if I win? That would be a seriously unenjoyable task, it would require masses of legwork, and you know how much I hate that," Draco pretended to consider it, even though he knew he would take the wager for a bag of Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

"Me," she said simply, "You can do whatever you want to me. Even that thing you've been begging me for that I always say no to."

Draco inhaled sharply as her hand slipped down between his legs, running up and down the length of him through his trousers, "What makes you think I'd go for that? It's a ten thousand galleon broom,"

"Because I'm the only person you can't control and it kills you. So do we have a bet? You seduce Hermione Granger and I'm all yours."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak as she continued rubbing him.

Pansy grinned, "And you'll help me with Ginny? I'd be very, very grateful."

"I think I might have enough on my hands with Granger. I'll need to give her my full attention."

"Shame," said Pansy sadly, stepping off his lap and magicking her dress back on, unscrewing a pewter vial she wore on a chain round her neck and taking a deep sniff from it as she did so. "Anyway, I'd better go, the auction starts in five minutes and I want to make sure I encourage that idiot Bagman to bid highly."

As she left the room, Draco tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, unsure of what he had got himself into. He suspected he had been manipulated but couldn't quite work out how.

 **oOoOoOo**

Draco knocked on the heavy wooden door, a battered suitcase in hand. His travelling cloak and boots were shabbier than he would have liked but he felt that they were integral to his plan. Old McGonagall peered out at him, the lantern in her hand illuminating the curls of mist that followed him in from the wintry Scottish moors.

"Come in Mr. Malfoy, before we freeze to death. I must say I'm surprised to see you back here so soon after your graduation, but your predecessor, Professor Slughorn speaks very highly of you, so we'll see how we all get on shall we?" Her eyes roved over the patches and darns on his heavy wool cloak, obviously trying to decide if he had fallen on hard times and that was why he had taken the job. He smiled insouciantly at her and fiddled with the clasp of his case. It was a fine line between making her feel sorry for him enough to override her doubts and hamming it up too much. Fortunately, she seemed to have bought it so far and had offered him a temporary post as Potions Master until the end of the year.

Headmistress McGonagall ushered him to the staff room and introduced him to the rest of the teachers. Ridiculous, really, as they had all taught him up until last year. The only notable exception was the one that interested him the most, but she barely looked up from the book she was reading to acknowledge him. As soon as pleasantries had been dispatched, he slipped into the empty seat next to her.

"Wuthering Heights? I'd never have had you down as a romantic, Granger. The way you were pressing your nose to the pages, I figured it must be a text book or something,"

"Malfoy," she sighed, not even bothering to close her book, "I'd heard you were coming to teach here."

"That tone, Granger, some people might consider that hurtful. I hope you don't speak to your students like that."

At this she slammed her book shut, "Look. I don't know why you've come to teach here and I don't care. All I care about is that I get to teach and carry on with my work to repair the damage done to the school. Unless this conversation is in some way going to aid me in either of those aims, I feel that we may as well end it now," she folded her hands in her lap and looked at him inquiringly.

He quirked his head to mirror her action, smiling benignly, "I'm interested. Is it that you think you're so good at magic that you're the only one who can rebuild Hogwarts or –"

He didn't even get to finish the sentence before she got up and walked off.

That evening, Draco paced up and down in the potions dungeon. He had set about arranging the room to his fancy but had found himself too annoyed to concentrate and had ended up having arguments in his head with Granger. Deciding that having it out with her in person would be more enjoyable, he set out to check her timetable and track her down.

He knocked firmly on the door of the newly installed detention room. Even this irritated him more than it should – that the students sat in neat rows, writing lines like muggles – another improvement brought in by Miss Hermione Granger who had deemed punishments like being sent into the Forbidden Forest as too dangerous for children. She was right, of course, and that irritated him most of all. She had protested as he had beckoned her out of the room, but he had mouthed that it was urgent through the glass window and with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she had told her pupils that she would be back in a moment and followed him out to the transfiguration courtyard.

"What do you want?" she demanded, hands on hips and half an eye down the corridor to the detention room.

"You're a hypocrite, you know that?" he crossed his arms over his chest, a flash of annoyance lighting up his silver eyes.

Hermione just huffed and turned on her heel, her hair swirling behind her as she made to return to the detention hall.

Undeterred, he called after her, "You teach defence against the dark arts but you don't even dare to leave the castle. You read all of those romance novels but you ditched the man who was madly in love with you because he wanted to go off and be an auror -"

"Don't you dare even presume," she hissed, stalking back towards him. For a moment he thought she was going to slap him.

"You gave your childhood to free the wizarding world and now you've done it, you're happy to waste your adult life here, babysitting delinquents in detention."

"I have responsibilities!" she shouted, and it felt like she was pouring the slap into her words, "Not that you would understand any of that."

"You're desperate for house elves to have equal rights but you won't even give me the time of day, just because I…well...you know what. If that's not hypocritical, I don't know what is,"

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it abruptly. Pressing his advantage, he pulled a muggle cigarette out his robes and lit it with the end of his wand.

"Going to report me?" he raised an eyebrow at her challengingly, "Perhaps I can do detention with your students. I'd offer you one but I know you're far too uptight…"

Hermione snatched the cigarette out of his hand and took one deep draw before exhaling, tilting her head upwards to watch the smoke disperse into the wind. Malfoy looked at her in profile – her hair, which he hadn't been able to turn to look at the board in potions class without getting a mouthful of, her caramel coloured eyes, her lips turned down at the corners.

Abruptly, she snapped her attention back to him, throwing the illicit cigarette on the floor and stamping it out, "For the record, Malfoy, it's not because you used to be a death eater that I'm avoiding you. It's because you're a bully. It's because you use women for sport – I've heard your bedroom may as well have a revolving door on it. And I heard what you did to Amelia Parker last month."

"So you'd believe rumours from the Prophet's gossip column without even listening to my side of the story?"

"Ginny said they lost the cup because of you," too late she seemed to realise that she had said too much, but made no effort to retract the statement.

"Oh Ginny said? Well it must be true then! Honestly, Hermione, I would have thought better of you," Draco stormed back towards the castle, his hands itching to throttle the mouthy redhead.

Once back in his chambers, he snatched up a piece of parchment and a quill, angrily dashing off a quick note to Pansy.

 _Changed my mind, I'll help you with your lodger._

 **oOoOoOo**

Ginny rolled her shoulder, cursing under her breath as she tried to reach behind and rub the aching joint. Pansy slipped out of her chair and began massaging the younger witch's shoulders.

"You're so tense!" Pansy exclaimed, working at the knots in the younger witch's shoulders and earning a groan of pleasure from her.

"Just a Quidditch injury, I came off my broom last week," Ginny grumbled, "I can't seem to find any pain potions that even touch it."

"You know who's great at brewing potions?" Pansy asked keenly, coming to sit down next to Ginny and clasping her hands in hers, "Draco! I bet he could help you. Truth is, he's been brewing 'recreational' potions for a few years now….I can't say that I approve but I bet he'd be able to give you something to help you out."

Ginny just raised her eyebrow at Pansy, "Draco? I mean….I know he's your stepbrother, and you've been so good letting me stay here -"

"Stop it!" Pansy batted at her gently, "I told you, while Harry and Ron are away, it makes sense, us keeping each other company. Listen, I know that Draco comes across as quite the prick but he's a good guy, honestly."

"Well, there was that thing with Draco and Amelia Parker. And he and Harry don't exactly see eye to eye," Ginny interjected.

"Harry isn't here though, is he?" Pansy observed shrewdly.

Ginny's eyes shone but she held her chin up bravely. Pansy could tell she was thinking it over. "Maybe you could send Draco an owl for me and ask him if he can recommend something,"

"Even better, he's coming over here in a minute, you could ask him yourself." As if she had summoned him, Draco strode into the room.

"Perfect timing Draco," Pansy rose to air kiss him, "We were just talking about you."

"All good I hope," he smiled, chucking Pansy on the chin with exaggeratedly wholesome affection, watching as Ginny reddened and scowled.

"Ginny's got a bad shoulder. I told her you'd brew her something decent for the pain. I'll leave you two alone to discuss it," she said airily and breezed from the room.

"You really don't need to put yourself out at all, Malfoy. If you could just recommend a decent potion, I'm sure I can pick one up in Diagon Alley -" Ginny seemed determined to only be as civil as good manners would dictate.

Draco laughed gently, "I'm pretty sure that whatever I give you, you won't be able to pick up at Diagon Alley."

Ginny's eyes widened and she folded her arms across her chest, "It's not dark magic is it? I've only got a sore shoulder," she held her arm protectively across her chest as though she was afraid Draco was going to curse it off.

"Of course not! I know you don't think much of me, or trust me at all, but please remember that I'm now a respected Potions Master. But, if you don't want this healing draught," he pulled a flask from his robes, shaking his head sorrowfully,"then I'm not going to force it down your throat."

"Oh give it here," Ginny sighed, snatching the potion from his hand and throwing it back in one deep swallow. Draco regarded her closely for a moment as a smile spread across her face and she visibly relaxed her tense position.

"How does your shoulder feel?"

Ginny giggled, turning slowly to look at him with pupils like saucers, "It's still killing me, only now I don't care."

"Oops," he smirked, "I may have underestimated the strength of the Shrivelfig I used. I blame Longbottom – he's always producing plants that are far more effective than they should be. It keeps throwing my potions out of whack. You know, maybe he's the person you need to speak to," he looked deep in thought for a moment, "Yes, I think he might be the man to help you with this."

Ginny laughed, "Neville's terrible at potions!" She draped herself around Draco's neck.

"Potions yes, but he could provide you with the herbs and plants you need and you could brew them yourself. Pansy said you're having trouble finding a decent pain potion so there's obviously a gap in the market. You and him could go into business together. I think you'd be great at it."

"Wow, thanks Draco, I'll owl him and ask him," Ginny rested her head on his shoulder, patting his chest in what he imagined to be a gesture of gratitude.

"And another thing. I've heard you've told Hermione Granger some pretty nasty things about me. Why was that?"

"I don't know," Ginny looked puzzled, as though it was someone else who must have said it.

"So you'll tell her you were wrong?"

Ginny nodded, still gazing in awe at him.

"You know, I'm not sure Harry would be too pleased to hear you've been making potions with me like this."

"Screw Harry Potter. I feel like I've spent my whole life waiting around for him and do you know what? He doesn't give a damn." She leaned in and kissed Draco full on the lips, open-mouthed and enthusiastic.

Draco opened his eyes to see Pansy watching from the doorway. He lowered the redhead down onto the sofa where she stretched like a cat, purring with pleasure. With an exaggerated wipe of his mouth, he bounded out of the room to join her. They snuck a look back in at Ginny spread out blissfully and smiled indulgently at each other, almost like parents who had put their child to bed.

"What did you give her?" Pansy chuckled as a soft snore issued from Ginny's lips.

"It's a neat little potion, invented it myself. Bit of this, bit of that. Two drops of Amortentia, just a dash of Felix, a healthy glug of Calming Draught. Side effects include lowered inhibitions, extreme suggestibility, and drowsiness. I call it the 'Get Whatever the Fuck I Want' elixir." He swiped his finger around the bottom of the flask and held it out to Pansy, inhaling deeply as she sucked the digit deeply into her mouth.

"Yummy," she hummed, smiling smugly. "Well it ought to get things moving in the right direction, at any rate. What changed your mind?"

"Like I said to her, she's been badmouthing me to Granger and it was completely unfounded."

"And that's why you're losing your bet?"

"I'm not losing the bet. It's just taking longer than I expected."

Pansy just smiled and picked an invisible speck from his lapel. "We'll see. Do you mind if I take my new broom for a ride? Just to see how it handles."

"Pans, the only thing you're going to be riding is me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do. If she doesn't wake up in the next four hours, let me know."

 **oOoOoOo**

How Pansy hated Hogsmeade, she sighed, as she sat gingerly on the grimy seat outside the Hog's Head, waiting. Always overflowing with sticky fingered children and the tat peddlers that tried to part them with their sickles and galleons. However, it was early, the village was just sleepily coming to life, the morning sun sparkling on leaded windows as it rose above the imposing castle on the hill, and at least she had the Prophet to amuse her, practically still warm off the presses.

 _Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley Exposed. Camping Trip a front for Gay Sex Romp_

 _See our exclusive photos inside – too hot to put on the front cover!_

The creaking of the bench and a sour scent of stale gin alerted her that her appointment had arrived.

"Nice work," Pansy smiled, gesturing to the newspaper.

"With a bit of polyjuice, anything is possible, although I couldn't do it without you supplying the necessaries," Rita Skeeter returned her smile, "it was a pleasure, really. That Harry Potter has been a pain in my arse for far too long now. And he's so boring! Mr. Squeaky Clean Potter. Still, this might liven him up a bit," she rubbed her sharp taloned hands together gleefully.

"Yes, well," Pansy was keen to wrap this meeting up before the two of them were spotted together, or she had to explain that she'd had to rifle through the shrine of Harry's old clothes that cluttered up her house to find one of his hairs. And the less she said about her association with Ron Weasley, the better, "here's the usual payment," she handed Rita a thick brown envelope, "and should this all come crashing down, I'm sure it goes without saying that it would be better all round to keep our…association to yourself."

Without another word, she left the journalist rifling through the envelope and strode off in the direction of Hogwarts School.

 **oOoOoOo**

Neville started at the tapping on the greenhouse door, jerking upwards and banging his head on the potting bench. He had just been bending down to retrieve a small plant pot for the violet he was potting up as a gift for Ginny when he had been startled.

"Damn," he muttered, rubbing his sore head and kicking at the spilled soil as he hurried to open the door. His eyes narrowed when he saw Pansy standing there, smiling ingratiatingly.

"What do you want?" he asked, more out of surprise than rudeness.

"Just a chat," she assured him as she breezed past into the greenhouse, "phew, it's humid in here isn't it, I'd forgotten," she fanned herself before removing her cloak to reveal a very tight, very short, red dress. Neville tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry with nerves.

"I'm er…I'm going to be late. I've got to go…to your house actually. To see Ginny," he felt like a rabbit in the lamplight as Pansy watched him trip over his words.

"That's what I'm here to talk to you about. Ginny," she suddenly looked sorrowful, eliciting a thrill of panic in Neville that there was something wrong, "I know you're very fond of her. I saw how close the two of you were when Harry was away, the way you always looked out for her at school," Neville's eyes widened. She knew. She knew! And she was here to warn him away from Ginny.

Praying to Godric that Ginny herself wasn't aware of the depths of his feelings, he folded his arms over his chest and jutted out his chin sullenly, "That's right, she's a very good friend to me," Neville made to walk back to where he had been working to indicate that the conversation was over.

Pansy, however, seemed to disagree, and hopped up to sit on the worn wooden potting bench in front of him. Neville tried not to look at her legs, "A good friend," Pansy repeated slowly, with a knowing wink, "I think that's just what Ginny needs right now. A good friend to keep her company while Harry's away. She's lonely Neville; I think that's where this potion idea has come from, as an excuse for a bit of company maybe?"

Neville felt the pounding in his chest slow slightly as it became clear that he wasn't in for a grilling from the frankly, scary Slytherin, although her proximity still made him more nervous than he'd care to admit.

"Ginny's a good friend to me too, and I want to see her happy. Harry ditching her again, it's left her very low. Something tells me that you'll be able to cheer her up though. I think you're lonely too," she trailed her fingers over his bare forearm, making the hairs stand up. He surveyed her suspiciously. He didn't trust Pansy as far as he could throw her, reformed character or not but, but perhaps he was being unfair. After all, looking out for her friend was quite admirable, and Ginny had been full of praise for her when she had written and asked him to visit.

Pansy looked around the greenhouse with apparent interest, trailing her hand over the small violet that he supposed he would now not have time to pot. Too late he realised that her hand had strayed onto one of the curling feelers of the overgrown Venomous Tentacula that, just like his predecessor, he never had the heart to prune. Quick as a flash it wrapped round her wrist, pulling her whole arm backwards above her shoulder.

"Try not to wriggle," he ordered, "It'll only pull you tighter. I'm just going to cut you free," he edged closer to her with a silver knife. Almost immediately he realised the problem – that to get to the tangled vine, he was going to have to get closer to Pansy than propriety would allow. She seemed to have the same idea and parted her legs, using her heel to pull him towards her. He could feel the heat between her legs pressed up against him and her breasts crushed to his chest as he leaned over her to cut her free.

She actually purred in his ear, nearly making him fumble and chop his own thumb off.

"I'm glad we've had this chat, Neville. Look at the time, you may as well come back to my Townhouse with me now – the floo is sometimes a bit temperamental. Don't worry, I'll only be dropping you off, I won't be sticking around, three's a crowd and all that."

As they entered the living room, she saw Ginny in floods of tears, holding the Prophet in her hand, "I'll leave you two to it," she murmured in Neville's ear and discreetly withdrew.

 **oOoOoOo**

To his surprise, as weeks turned into months, Draco found he really enjoyed teaching. Sometimes he worried that he was a little too much like Snape, in that he let his annoyances show through, and he could be quite acid tongued to some of the students, but for the most part, he just let their trivialities wash over him. It was refreshing. And being back in the potions dungeon, even after having been away for only a year, felt like coming home. He couldn't deny that he enjoyed the fact that the professors who previously looked down their noses at him had to treat him like an equal.

He wasn't sure whether it was something Ginny had said to Hermione, or the fact his students' marks exceeded Snape's and Slughorn's, but even she seemed to have warmed to him. They often sat in the staff room, doing their marking together, drinking the expensive muggle coffee that she sneaked in, or went for walks to Hogsmeade on a Saturday. He even found himself reading her stupid muggle romance books, just so he could understand what she saw in them. He found that time had mellowed her need to provide answers to everything, although her almost evangelical need to return the school back to its original state irritated him.

"You're covered in soot," he had snapped at her one night, when she hadn't come into the staff room at the normal time. He had been peeved, then worried, but had refused to go and seek her out and was glad when she had turned up at his quarters after dinner.

"I've been in the Room of Requirement," she sighed, "I think it's broken but I had to try…" she trailed off, looking at him piteously. For a moment he couldn't work out why, then he remembered Crabbe, and him being gobbled up by the fiendfyre.

"You know," he observed coldly, summoning them both a healthy glassful of firewhisky, "Even if you fix it, he'll still be dead. If you repair that hole in the seventh floor corridor, Fred Weasley isn't going to come bounding up and thank you for it. And as for the Astronomy Tower that you spent so long rebuilding, well it hasn't brought Dumbledore back has it?" he smirked at her, wondering if she would cry.

"Why are you like this?" she waved her hand over to him, as though it was obvious that he should know what she was talking about.

"Bad upbringing," he grinned wickedly at her.

"Hmm," she nodded sceptically, as though she thought that was exactly the problem, and it wasn't one to be laughing about.

"Why are you like you are? Pushing Ron away when you two were just about perfect for one another? Shutting yourself away in this school on a fool's errand like an old spinster. People are worried about you, you know that don't you? I'm worried about you – where's the annoying know it all swot who beat me in every test and was going to be Minister for Magic? Where's the girl who came back after the war and passed every single NEWT with flying colours?"

"Maybe she died on your ballroom floor!" She stood up to shout this at him.

"Don't be overdramatic,"he snapped unsympathetically, "and don't deflect the question."

"Why not, that's what you did?"

"This is stupid," he sighed, staring moodily into his glass, "I haven't got the energy to keep going round and round with these childish arguments with you."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, nodding to herself before opening them again with a smile, holding out her hand to him, "Then let's not argue. Come with me."

She led him out of the castle and past the lake, onto the Quidditch pitch. "Lie down," she instructed and they lay on the chilly grass, staring up at the inky sky. Draco bit back a complaint about the damp seeping into his robes as Hermione squeezed his hand, and with a wave of her wand, the sky was full of softly drifting snowflakes. Draco laughed in delight as one landed on his nose.

The snow fell thick and fast, settling heavily over the grass. Draco spread his hands wide, marvelling at the wonder of it. He thought he could watch it all night, illuminated in the torches that burned round the edge of the pitch, but his reverence was broken by the wet splat of a snowball hitting him on the side of the head.

"Oh, no you didn't!" He gasped, shaking his head and running after the Gryffindor, scooping up a handful of snow as he went.

A vicious snowball fight started up, neither of them thinking to reach for their wand as they pelted the other with snow. Eventually Draco advanced on Hermione, avoiding the onslaught of frozen missiles, only to shove a handful of powdery whiteness down into her robes, making her squeal. Begging breathlessly for mercy through her laughter, Hermione grabbed the cuffs of Draco's robes to stop him.

"You've got snowflakes on your eyelashes," he whispered. She moved to swipe them off but he stopped her, "You're so beautiful, Granger."

He inclined his head down to hers, swallowing deeply as her chill reddened lips parted slightly, but after a second that stretched as thin as gossamer, he seemed to lose his nerve and grabbed her round the waist, spinning her round, cheering and whooping up to the sky.

On the way back through the castle, shivering and dripping down deserted corridors, they found themselves outside the Room of Requirement.

"You have a go," she looked almost nervous, "You know it better than me. It's instinctive magic – like flying a broom and I'm no good at that."

Draco grabbed her by the shoulders, "Will you listen to me? You're the best witch I know, and that's more than just books and cleverness, you've got magic running through you. It's so strong I can almost taste it on the air when you're all cross about something or other. Let's do it together," he grabbed her hand and began to walk past the door, speaking aloud for her benefit.

"I think the Room of Hidden Things has been destroyed, but that's only one incarnation, perhaps we best try for something simple…maybe a comfortable room for two very cold and wet friends to pass the time," he smiled at her, "with a fire, and a change of clothes and a pair of cosy arm chairs."

They walked back and forth in front of the room, both concentrating hard as the door materialised.

"Open it," she whispered.

"Together, he put her hand on the door knob.

As soon as the door swung open, he knew it had worked. What he hadn't expected was his reaction – the way his heart raced to see the shadows from the cheery fire in the fireplace flickering across the ceiling. He backed up against the door, his hand scrabbling uselessly on the handle.

"It's ok, it's ok," Hermione's hand was on his shoulder and she was speaking softly, like she was gentling a nervous colt.

"That fucking idiot," Draco whispered, his voice breaking, "He could have killed us all. He was so stupid in so many ways. But he was my friend. He wasn't even allowed a funeral." He bowed his head, ashamed to meet her eye while his own were shining with unshed tears.

He felt her arms snake around him, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back and this time he held his nerve and pressed his lips against hers. She kissed him back, tenderly at first, but soon with mounting passion, her hands running through his hair, pulling him closer to her.

Suddenly he became aware of the fact that she was shivering in her damp clothes. Lifting her arms up above her head, he slipped the heavily wet wool from her shoulders, trembling from something more than cold, and led her to the plush rug in front of the fire. The flames made her skin look like burnished gold as she smiled up at him. He pulled off his own robes with shaking hands and laid down next to her, resuming their languid kissing and caressing. He ghosted his hands over the soft curves of her body, marvelling at the softness of her skin and was rewarded by her moaning into his mouth. Just that sexy little moan was almost enough to make him cum in his pants like a schoolboy. Wordlessly, she magicked away their underwear, giggling at his surprised face.

She spread her legs, guiding his body over her, their lips frenzied against each other's, and he eased inside her, her tight wetness making his head spin. He tried to keep his pace slow and romantic but their want was too great and they urged each other on like flames on kindling.

All too soon, he felt the irresistible tension building and he knew he wouldn't be able to last much longer. He pressed his lips to her forehead, his hands in her hair and with a last shaky thrust, spilled his seed inside her. He was vaguely aware, outside the ecstasy of his orgasm, of the feeling of her coming undone in his arms.

He looked down at her, all glorious with her hair spread all around her like a halo and smiling at him like he was the greatest thing ever. It made him want to throw up and cry, all at the same time.

"I can't be here," he muttered, shrugging his robes back on. He ran from the room before he could even find out if she was going to call him back.

 **oOoOoOo**

"I've done it," the happiness in his voice from the fire made Pansy recoil. He sounded like an idiot. Disappointment tolled a hollow bell inside her, that Draco had become one of those pussies she despised. She could practically smell the patheticness on him.

"Oh spare me the details," she rolled her eyes and examined her flawless manicure.

"It was incredible. She was incredible. It was like…she thought I was a good person, like she thought I was worth it."

Pansy mimed retching, "Oh, Draco!" she shrieked in frustration, "You've been with her five minutes and look what she's done to you! You're a joke! What are you going to do; the two of you going to live at Hogwarts forever, until you get as dusty and dried up as her? A has-been former death eater? People used to respect you. They feared you. Now you're going to throw all of that away! You think she would have fallen for some shambling professor if you didn't have the bad boy glamour to go with it?" And then she did the one thing that she knew he wouldn't be able to ignore – she laughed in his face.

"Don't be like that. It's only a contest."

"It was at first, but not now. It's something else. You're becoming like one of the drones we despise. Don't be weak, Draco."

Draco looked thoughtful; she had touched a nerve, "What do you suggest?"

"Being there with those goody goodies is addling your brain. Come back to me. Just leave a note of resignation and come over here. You know deep down you don't belong with them."

Within an hour, Draco turned up, his muggle sunglasses failing to hide the fact that his face was unattractively blotchy. Pansy rapidly screwed shut the vial of Powdered Dragon Claw that she wore on the chain around her neck and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

She patted the sofa next to her, "Tell me all about it."

Draco flung his belongings down and sank into the plush upholstery next to her, seeming happy just to let everything spill out, "It's like, she's exactly like you think – she's a pain in the arse. She's spending galleons and galleons of the war survivors fund repairing the school. She thinks she knows best about everything, even me and the worst thing is, she's probably right. But then, she does stuff like slipping out and smoking a cigarette with me when she's supposed to be watching second years in detention. Or causing a snowstorm on the Quidditch pitch to make me smile. And she's magnificent."

"But to clarify, you did fuck? Your cock and balls hadn't entirely retracted inside your body by that point?"

"We made love. In the Room of Requirement."

Pansy watched idly as a small beetle crawled over the window sill and opened up its jewel coloured wing cases before flying away.

"Well, I suppose you'll be wanting to claim your prize now?" she prowled towards him like a lynx.

"No thank you," he sighed regretfully.

"Don't be so dramatic,"

"I have a flair for drama," he removed his sunglasses, showing his red rimmed eyes. "I resigned. I sent Hermione a note too, telling her I'm too fucked up to be with her.

"Good boy," she petted him on the head, "now on to the bed, I want to fuck."

"Well I don't," he grit out, "my broom's over there, you win, take it," he gestured with a heavy arm.

She toed off her underwear and tried to straddle him, but he just pushed her unceremoniously onto the floor. She regained her footing with as much dignity as she could muster.

"There's plenty of time, I can wait for you to claim your prize. I feel like there's still enough fun to be had out of this for me to be too bored for a little while. This was what I was talking about, Draco, not being like them. When we cast a spell, empires fall. Books will be written about us. We're going to make our parents look like amateurs," she was speaking as though she was addressing a crowded room.

Draco said nothing, just poured them both a firewhisky.

"A toast," Pansy proclaimed, watching the way he moved as though he was physically in pain. Remorse really didn't suit him.

"To us," he said tonelessly.

She raised her glass but didn't drink, "To my triumph," she amended.

"Fine, to your triumph over the Weasel," Draco shrugged, taking a swig.

"What's so funny?" Draco demanded, as Pansy giggled into her firewhisky.

"As if I care about him. I'm talking about my triumph over you. I saw the way you looked at her the whole last year of school, the way you used to pine over her. It didn't take much of a nudge on my part and you fell in love with her, like some kind of silly puppy. And then because I laughed at you about it, made you feel like your love was stupid, made you feel ashamed of actually feeling something, you gave up on her. You broke her heart Draco – she's probably somewhere crying into her pillow right now over you. I'd be flattered that you think that much of me, but I know that it's just because you're so fucking weak that you can't stand anyone laughing at you. You've destroyed your only chance of real happiness. And that's just about the saddest thing I ever heard," she regarded him coolly over the top of her goblet for a beat, "cheers," she smirked, and tossed back the drink.

Draco had strode to the fire and dashed the floo powder down, growling 'Hogwarts," before she had even swallowed the burning liquid. His glass flew across the room, whistling past her head to smash and drip down the wall.

 **oOoOoOo**

Hermione slammed the newspaper down onto the table, casting a lumos in the darkened room as she did so. When she saw Draco, his pale face, his puffy red eyes, his expression of eerie calm almost stopped her in her stride. He had a copy of the paper already, of course he did. Everyone did – everyone had seen the expose on her. Everyone knew about how she had left those children unsupervised. About her and Draco. About how she had shagged him in the Room of Requirement. There had been aspersions cast that she was remodelling the school into some kind of sex palace. And that was just the first six pages. The next four were concerned with Neville and Ginny's affair. The paper had styled it as 'A Scandal at Hogwarts' special edition.

"What the hell have you done?" she demanded.

"Hermione, there's nothing you can say or do to make me hate myself any more than I already do," he mumbled, "Shout at me, hit me, hex me if it will make you feel better. Just know that none of it will make me feel any worse."

"You aren't even going to apologise?"

"What for? Would it make any difference if I begged for your forgiveness? If I told you that you've been the only thing that has made my life worth living in…well, as long as I can remember? That I only sent you that note because I'm a scared idiot? That you're the most beautiful, intelligent, good person that I've ever met?"

"But why did you tell the Prophet all of that stuff?" Hermione's brown eyes were wide with hurt. Draco dug his nails into the palm of his hand.

"It was Pansy," he admitted, like it was walking through fiendfyre to admit it, "We had a….disagreement yesterday. Skeeter must have been buzzing around while we were talking. She's got her on her payroll."

"You told Pansy about us? Why?"

"Because that's what I do!" He shouted at her, "I fuck things up! Me, Pansy. We're not like you – we don't have some fucking mission to make the world a better place. I fuck women, I drink too much, gamble too much. That's what I am."

Hermione shook her head in denial, "I don't buy it. I know you, Draco Malfoy. You're still just that same scared boy who wouldn't identify us back at Malfoy Manor but there's goodness there. You can't –"

Pansy's head appeared in Draco's fire, green flames licking eerily over her skin, "Draco. Astronomy Tower. Now." She barked.

"Don't go," Hermione gripped his arm but he shook her off sadly.

"It's best not to ignore her," he sighed, making for the door. Hermione frowned at the fire then followed him.

Pansy didn't look surprised to see Hermione with him, and it made him wonder if that had been her intention all along.

"You bitch," Draco shouted, running towards Pansy with his wand drawn. She looked almost amused as she struck him down to the ground with a flick of her wand. He shook his head and clambered to his feet, preparing to charge at her again.

"Stop it!" Shouted Hermione, jumping between the two of them. Draco allowed her to put the palm of her hand on his chest and push him backwards. The sight of it made Pansy jealously irritated.

"Why did you even do it?" Hermione asked, and she looked more tired than angry, great bruise like shadows under her eyes bleeding down her face.

Pansy paused for a moment. People didn't normally ask why she meddled. They either got angry, which really didn't help them, as a rule - it made for knee jerk reactions and messy, sloppy decisions. Or they buckled so easily it was like they didn't realise what was happening to them and gave her what she wanted. Money, or information, or sex. Being asked to explain herself made all of her reasons feel petty and acidic on her tongue.

"To see if I could," she smirked, examining her nails. "To see how easily you'd give up on your principles and this ridiculous crusade to rebuild the school singlehandedly. To see if Saint Hermione could be corrupted. And look – you could," she smiled simply at the flush that travelled up Hermione's neck, the way she shook with rage.

"So because I made it my mission to make Hogwarts a safer place, you decided that my heart was open season for you to destroy?" Pansy saw Draco flinch at Hermione mentioning her heart, "And Ginny? What did she do? What about Ron – you know all of this is going to destroy him. Oh!" Hermione stopped dead, a wild laugh escaping her lips and whipping up into the sky, "We're just collateral damage aren't we? All of this – this sick twisted game – taking up with Ron, meddling with everyone's lives - was just to get Malfoy's attention wasn't it? Wasn't it!" she screamed, when Pansy stared impassively at her.

Sensing she wasn't going to get an explanation from the dark haired witch, she just shrugged and wrapped her hands around herself, shaking her head sadly at the pair as she started down the stone steps.

"Hermione, wait!" the words were out of Draco's mouth before he could stop himself. He just didn't want her to leave, but she ignored him.

Pansy snarled and lashed her wand like a whip. A white strand of light snagged Hermione round the ankle and dragged her back up into the tower.

"My darling brother was talking to you," Pansy growled, "We are not used to being ignored."

Then Hermione's wand was out too and they circled each other like a pair of alley cats, sizing each other up before curses started to fly between them. Their arms looked like blurs of light and fury as they struck and parried, jinxed and counter jinxed. Hermione, the stronger dueller of the pair began advancing on Pansy but disaster struck and she tripped on a loose stone. Pansy took advantage of her moment of distraction and shot her wand clean out of her hand, smiling as it rolled away harmlessly to a distant corner.

Pansy summoned up all of her hate and her spite and her petty ire and channelled it down into her wand, "Crucio!" she screamed, pointing at Hermione. Any thought of her reputation, or the consequences to her had been forgotten. Hermione's eyes widened as the curse flashed and crackled through the air towards her, but before it could hit, before it turned her into pain itself, Draco ran towards her and shoved her out of the way. The curse hit him instead, the force of it carrying him backwards, lifting him off his feet. He didn't even have time to scream or even register being hit, before his feet were scrabbling on the loose stones of the ruined edge of the tower and for a split second he hung like a broken marionette in mid-air before he sank like a stone.

Hermione didn't stop to blame her, or even to look at her. She just snatched up the broom that had been Pansy's for such a short time, and shot down after Draco. Pansy edged towards the crumbled battlements, feeling numb. For a moment, she didn't dare to look, as though not seeing it would stop it being real. As though she could just pull a curtain over it all and avoid all of the trouble that was coming, all of the questions that this would raise. But it was as though Draco was calling her, she could hear him, and she peered over the edge to the lush green grass below. His broken body lay at the bottom of the tower, limbs arranged unnaturally, Hermione huddled over him, and she realised that it wasn't Draco calling, it was her screaming.

 **oOoOoOo**

Pansy checked her appearance one last time in the mirror, admiring the way that the slash of red lipstick set off her pale skin and raven hair. It was just what she needed to brighten up her intolerably modest mourning robes. She adjusted the birdcage veil of her small black hat and congratulated herself that she had only cried as much as seemed a decent amount, and only ever in public - red lips and red eyes clashed horribly. That wasn't to say that she was not going to miss Draco, or that she wasn't sad about his passing because honestly she was. He was the only one who really had ever got her, and now he was gone, things were going to be intolerably lonely. But at least she hadn't been like Hermione, honking and weeping as they took his body away.

Pansy squeezed her eyes shut to remove the image of Draco's crookedly limp corpse. Reaching inside her robes, she removed her trusty necklace and took a quick snort of Powdered Dragon Claw, before apparating to the funeral.

The first thing she noticed when the world righted itself again was how noisy it was. People chattering in scandalised tones, giggling even. Panic momentarily welled up inside her that she had apparated to the wrong place, but there was the Malfoy family chapel (a source of annoyance to her in itself that Narcissa had insisted he be buried there, rather than the Parkinson crypt), there were the oversized portraits of Draco at the entrance that she had ordered, there were the crowds of people dressed in black. Still it didn't seem right, panic turning to outrage at the gossiping, insufficiently sorrowful crowds. They were huddled in small groups, all holding copies of what looked like the Prophet, of all things. She stalked indignantly towards the entrance, barely noticing how a veil of shocked silence trailed behind her. At the doors, Ginny stood like an avenging angel, her hair blazing in the sunlight, a sheaf of newspapers in her arms, handing them out to newcomers. Neville stood by her side, smiling shyly down at her as he too, doled out copies of the Prophet. Suddenly, Ginny's eyes snapped to her and smirking curiously, she held out a paper to Pansy, which she snatched ungratefully.

 **PANSY PARKINSON'S CRUEL INTENTIONS**

 _Pureblood heiress uses War Orphan charity as a front for blackmail and money laundering. Ministry investigates fraud as charity announces that only a fraction of the money raised reaches them._

 _Pansy implicated in the suspicious death of Draco Malfoy as sources reveal that she was present when he fell from the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower_

 _Her dirty little secret: Photographic evidence of her addiction to Powdered Dragon's Claw._

Her stomach roiled hot and wet and heavy as her heart pounded noisy blood through her ears and adrenaline pumped to the tips of her fingers. She looked up slowly to see Narcissa glaring at her. If she had thought that Ginny had looked like an avenging angel earlie, she was wrong, her petty amusement eclipsed by this force of awesome terribleness bearing down upon her.

She threw the newspaper down onto the ground and stamped her stilettoed heel down on to it, her small hands balling into fists at her sides as her eyes darted and skittered over all of the faces turned to her.

"What is this shit?" she shrieked, "Where's Hermione Granger? She's done this! It's all a load of shit – I swear!" she took a small step backwards and stumbled slightly, her heel catching on the newspaper. Ugly blotches of colour spread up her neck and across her face. Still everyone stared at her, on every face an identical look of open mouthed horror. Then it started. Slowly at first but it soon gained momentum and spread like a Gemino curse. The laughter. The fingers pointed at her. The quick excited undercurrent of voices.

All of her hard work, her plans all gone to hell. Her reputation in ruins. Draco gone. Betrayed by that bitch Rita Skeeter. Pansy turned her face skywards and howled out a shriek of wordless fury.

 **oOoOoOo**

A couple sat at the far side of the graveyard on a wooden bench, green with age, watching the commotion over their newspapers.

"Oh dear, she doesn't look very happy does she?" smirked Hermione, replacing the dark shades over her eyes.

"No. Well, she should have taken note of what you did to Umbridge back in fifth year. It was bound to end in tears."

"Hmm," Hermione hummed in agreement, "Still, I did tell her I was making the school a safer place. I mean, after Dumbledore fell out of the Astronomy Tower, why in Godric's name would I rebuild it without some kind of cushioning charm on the ground. Particularly since Professor Sinistra won't let me install a handrail. Something to do with the view or something."

"Not that safe!" Draco protested, rubbing his still bandaged arm.

Hermione sighed indulgently, rolling her eyes, "I suppose we'll have to tell them the truth eventually," Draco continued, "Shame. I've been enjoying this little break from real life. I think I could get used to living in disgustingly overpriced muggle hotel suites with you," he leant over and kissed her cheek.

"Welll," Hermione drew the word out as though she was considering something, "it's the school holidays and phase two of the building work is complete now. It's really just cosmetic from here. They could do without me for a while. And I've heard New York has some even more expensive hotel rooms we could go and trash," they both smiled for a minute, remembering the bed that they had broken at the Hilton.

"The show looks like it's over here," Draco observed, as two ministry officials dragged Pansy away, kicking and screaming, "What are we waiting for?"

* * *

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	6. Fae Relic

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: Fae Relic**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Suspense**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: Language**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **Fae Relic**

* * *

The ancient forest was bathed in darkness, save for the dim starlight that cast an eerie glow on the small creek cutting through the trees. The organic scent of composting, snapped trees and centuries old gnarled roots wafted through the air. Deep in the heart of the primitive woods, the thick foliage gave way to a glade of sorts, where the creek emptied into a small pool at the mouth of a cave. The trees lining the glade stood like guardians, silent and watchful.

Two butterflies fluttered along the water's edge, the glow from their pink, glittering wings purged the immediate darkness. They flew up to the mouth of the cave, magic reverberating around them.

The air that kissed their flapping wings became charged, vibrating with some invisible energy. The brilliant pink hue morphed into a full spectrum of colors—red, green, blue, and then back to pink again. The wings gave way, and the arthropodic bodies shifted and changed into that of ethereal, long limbed creatures.

Sighing and stretching, the fae with shimmering blond hair cast a doubtful look around. "Here," her brows knitted in distaste, "here, Nyx, is where you want me to hide it?"

The silver-haired fae crossed her arms petulantly. "It's the perfect spot, Rowen. Unknown to humans."

"I don't know." Rowen absently examined her flawless reflection in the pool. "Humans do seem to often be able to find that what's off limits to them."

Nyx's hands dropped to her hips. "Rowen, don't put off the inevitable. You know what the queen demanded of you. We've been to three places you've already declared weren't ' _good enough_.' This is the final stop."

Rowen withdrew a sparkling chain with a heavy pendant from her skirt, eyeing it proudly. "I don't see why I must give it up. It's an amazing achievement; it's not meant to be hidden away."

"It's dangerous. You've seen what happens when the humans get ahold of it—they can change the _entire world_!"

"That's not what it's meant for." Rowen clutched the chain to her chest in a protective gesture.

"I'm sure there are much more efficient inventions you can conjure." Nyx reached for Rowen's arm, wrenching her to the mouth of the cave. "Don't dally another moment. The queen has given her orders, and there's no sense disputing it."

Rowen followed reluctantly behind her friend, suppressing the urge to do just what she was forbidden to. She let the delicate chain thread through her fingers one last time as they entered the cave. _Damned meddlesome humans_.

 **oOoOoOo**

"Level Nine, Department of Mysteries," a pleasant voice floated through the lift.

Harry straightened the collar of his robes as he stepped off of the lift, the Spinning Room and old courtrooms, and headed towards the Thought Chamber. He clenched his jaw, replaying the morning's events in his mind. Once again he'd had a fight with Ginny. They both had become quite good at it, actually. It was, regrettably, becoming the norm for them.

Five years had passed since the war, and still, Harry was plagued with disturbing memories. His traumatic past haunted him, even if others had managed to to put it behind them, like Ginny had so effortlessly done. He couldn't simply compartmentalize it away; It was forever prevalent, much to his dismay. His fiancee of two years considered this "weak," so it was hardly a topic he could broach with her. What was more, she kept him on a tight leash, forever expecting the worst of him.

Harry hadn't very much experience in relationships, but he expected if he had, he wouldn't be very fond of the jealousy aspect that was poisoning his. What was the point of being with someone if you didn't trust them? Gone was the confident and carefree girl he had known since their school days. Since they'd been a couple, he'd come to see a paranoid side of her he didn't much care for. She had grown to be quite obsessed with the thought that Harry went to work everyday shagging witches in any empty Ministry office he could find. It was bloody infuriating, and likely the reason he could hardly find it in himself to shag her.

He already had to face the wrath of the Weasleys; Ron and his family were not keen on the long engagement. He felt pressured from society, who viewed them both as London's golden couple. It was an impossible legacy to live up to—and quite the joke. He'd much rather spend long hours at the Ministry and away from her incessant nagging. He supposed that's why he opted for the most demanding job the Ministry could offer, rather than the path of Auror—that of an unspeakable.

His position in the Department of Mysteries granted him the much sought after time away from home, as well as presented him with challenging work that he could lose himself in. The solitude alone was a bonus.

Harry made a valiant effort to wrench the troublesome thoughts from his mind. He was going to see Hermione, and Hermione could always sense when something was amiss.

Reaching the entrance of the Thought Chamber, he quickly schooled his features before stepping through the door.

His carefully sculpted mask splintered at the sight before him.

His best friend was hunched over her desk with none other than _sodding Malfoy_ standing closely next to her. Harry felt a flush creep up his neck. Kingsley had notified him to meet with Hermione for orders. Why did he have to choose a time when the bloody ferret was there also?

"Well ,don't stand there gaping," Hermione said, completely neglecting to look up. "Come in, at least."

Malfoy looked up, appraising him with expressionless gray eyes. "Potter," he greeted coolly.

"Malfoy." Harry inclined his head whilst willing his features to be unreadable once more. He looked down at Hermione's desk where a three dimensional map was illuminated in the air. "What are you two looking at?"

"Mintumble has made some groundbreaking progress in the Space Chamber," she informed them proudly, simultaneously flicking her wand over the map. "She's made an epic discovery! Did you know etching the _Raio Rune_ along with _Inguz_ onto a compass will have the effect of zoning in on magical power sources?"

Harry glanced up quickly at Malfoy, but his face was inscrutable. He shook his head.

Hermione continued, undeterred. "It allows us to discover artefacts previously concealed—possibly, even, for thousands of years. We haven't had a major magical find since the Terracotta warriors. Think of all the possibilities this compass can lead us to!" Hermione continued to flick her wand, zooming in and out around the map that Harry now recognized as Britain.

"Take it easy, Hermione. You're making me sick," Harry muttered.

Malfoy's brows knitted in concentration. "Does it have a specific range?"

"About a hundred miles," she answered excitedly. "And it's working right now. See all those twinkling lights? I see quite a bit tucked away in Wiltshire." She poked Malfoy playfully. He quirked his lips slightly, and Harry frowned at the lightness of their relationship. When had that developed? Maybe Ginny was right; it appeared he was the only one incapable of moving on since the war.

"That's highly invasive of my privacy, Granger," Malfoy said imperiously, but Harry detected mirth in his voice.

"This light here, the extra shiny one, what area is it pointing to?" Harry gestured to a northern portion of the map, where a small light glowed more brightly than the others.

"Wychwood Forest," Malfoy observed.

"And _that_ is where your mission comes in." Hermione smiled eagerly, glancing between the two men.

"Wait, our mission?" Harry gestured between him and Malfoy in bewilderment.

"Mmhmm," she answered flippantly, striding over to a table on the far side of the room and lifting open a chest.

"Kingsley has never paired up Potter and me before," Malfoy pointed out.

"I paired the two of you up."

Harry and Malfoy exchanged glances.

"Why?" Harry asked, feeling mildly alarmed.

"Let me see," she placed a finger on her chin in thought, "you're two of the best unspeakables the Ministry has to boast of…Oh! And Saul Croaker is still in St. Mungo's, recovering from his last mission. Obviously, Eloise needs to continue her work in the Space Chamber. So, that leaves the two of you." Hermione withdrew two pocket watches from the chest. "Here," she handed them each one. "We've spelled this with the _Algiz Rune_."

"For protection?" Malfoy arched a brow.

"That's right. And it has the nifty ability to breach any ward—at least the ones I've come across. I'll need the two of you to work cohesively as a team. You're the best we've got, and we've no idea what could be strong enough to leave that sort of trace."

Harry inwardly fumed, unsure why he felt so unsettled about the partnership, but definitely put off by it.

"That's fine by me." Malfoy's eyes flickered up to meet Harry's. "Is it alright by you, Potter?"

He could feel Hermione's gaze boring into him. "Of course it's alright," he replied smoothly. "We can get started first thing tomorrow."

She smiled widely. "Wonderful!"

Harry turned to leave, but Hermione halted him. "Harry, don't forget about my and Theo's soirée at Nott manor. It's next week, will you be attending?"

"I believe Ginny mentioned it."

She turned to Malfoy. "You haven't RSVP'd either, Draco. Theo will be sorely disappointed if his best mate isn't there." Her glare turned reproachful.

"Count me in." Malfoy turned for the door.

"Shall we expect a plus one?"

His voice was distinctly amused. "I'll be going stag, Granger."

He left, and Harry turned to face Hermione questioningly.

"Theo says he's called off his engagement with Astoria," she explained.

Harry nodded and began mentally preparing himself for another evening with his own fiery fiance. Perhaps he could make a pit stop at the local pub first…

 **oOoOoOo**

"Harry," Ginny whinged. "Not only did you miss your fitting for your new dress robes, but then you come home smelling like firewhiskey again?"

"What fitting?" He asked, loosening his tie and throwing it on the counter. The flat was annoyingly cold, as if Ginny hadn't been around all day to cast a fire.

She furrowed her brows in displeasure. "For Theo and Hermione's soirée, of course."

"I was going to wear the black and green ones, I already told you." He reached his favorite chair and plopped down heavily on it.

"That will never work, Harry." Ginny wrinkled her nose in apparent distaste. "You have to get red and black to match my gown, silly."

"Whatever, Ginny."

Her brows drew together, a telltale sign she was vexed or concerned.

He glanced up, guilt clawing to the surface. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to snap. Work's just been trying lately."

"Well ,if you'd have joined Ron in the Auror department, you could have counted on much earlier nights. There aren't very many dark wizards to apprehend these days."

Harry inwardly lamented. _Does she really mean to dredge up that old arguement?_

"Regardless, it doesn't really matter." She lifted some boxes from the table proudly displaying Madam Malkin's logo emblazoned boldly over the top. "I managed without you."

The familiar feeling of irritation rose to the surface, and this time, Harry was unable to ignore it. _Perhaps starting a mission with Malfoy tomorrow won't be so bad after all._

 **oOoOoOo**

Harry moved silently, wand raised, next to Malfoy as they ventured deeper into Wychwood Forest. Rotting trees created a woodsy incense in the air. Harry found he quite liked the smell.

"You don't have to be so bloody tense, Potter," Malfoy drawled. "It's not like someone's going to come out and grab us."

Harry reluctantly snuck a glance in Malfoy's direction. The haughty wizard looked as confident as ever. What was more, he couldn't help but notice how striking his features were. The Malfoy Harry remembered from his school days was more sharp points than chiseled angles, but that had all changed. His aristocratic features were easier to notice sans his trademark smirk. He eyes, hooded though they were, were like depthless pools of molten silver.

"Is that why you chose this line of work," Harry hazarded carefully, "for the low danger factor?"

Malfoy frowned. "Hardly. The Auror department spends their days pursuing petty thieves and settling domestic disputes. They're like glorified Magical Law Enforcement. At least with us unspeakables, we can continue our education. Continue studying. There's still so much to learn and discover."

Harry nodded, completely understanding where the former Slytherin was coming from. "What do you suppose we'll find here?"

Malfoy glanced at him mischievously, his smile oddly disarming. "That's half the fun isn't it, Potter?"

Harry gulped. "Yeah."

 _Yeah? Good-Godric, is that all I can manage? How embarrassing._

Malfoy shot him a look, and Harry was reminded again of just how intelligent his newly arranged partner was. He could probably sense Harry's trepidation.

"Look, Potter, I know we have… _unresolved issues_. I was prat at school-"

"Please, Malfoy. You were a kid. We all were. And you made up for all of it when you didn't betray us at your manor."

"That's another thing," Instead of looking relieved, Malfoy looked bemused, "I never did get to thank you, I mean truly thank you, for what you said at my trial. If it wasn't for you, I'd likely be rotting in Azkaban right now."

"I just spoke the truth," Harry assured him. "It was nothing."

Malfoy stopped him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. Harry found himself suddenly caught in startling gray eyes. "Trust me, it wasn't 'nothing.'"

Heat radiated from Malfoy's hand, and Harry felt suddenly at a loss for what to do. Weeks of tension at home had him riled up and ready to unravel at the slightest provocation. Fortunately, he was saved from having to think of something witty, or possibly humiliating himself by having a breakdown right in front of Malfoy, of all people: The magic-sensor Hermione had entrusted them with, chose that moment to go off like a rabid Weasley whiz-bang.

"Merlin," Malfoy said, breaking away from Harry and cradling the sensor with both hands. "Do you see this thing? It's going crazy." He held it in the air examining it closely. "I think it's guiding us to that cave over there." Malfoy gestured for Harry to follow. "Let's check it out."

 **oOoOoOo**

"I'm a bit leery," Harry admitted. "That necklace is just sitting on the stone, bold as brass, not warded or anything."

"It could be warded," Malfoy pointed out. "We haven't tried to pick it up yet."

Harry eyed the delicate silver chain dubiously. "There's only one way to find out."

Malfoy halted him, his eyes widening in alarm. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

Harry grinned. "You've already thrown every spell you know at it. The diagnostic tests have all come up clear."

"Yes, but that's more alarming than reassuring, I should think. That it's not even resonating with my diagnostic spell, yet it caused the sensor to go off, not to mention the one at the Ministry? Which, need I remind you, was a hundred miles away? I would advise discretion, Potter."

Harry couldn't disagree more. This sort of thing was exactly what he needed.

The thrill of the chase.

 _Excitement._

To live on the edge once more.

That's what was missing from his life, and he'd be damned if he let Malfoy put an end to it before it even begun.

"Come on, Malfoy," he said, reaching for the seemingly innocent trinket. "Live a little."

Looking back, Harry supposed he was quite lucky that Malfoy's hand closed around his wrist the very instant Harry's fingers touched the foreign metal. If it hadn't, Harry may have faced one of the most challenging events of his life alone.

 **oOoOoOo**

A cacophony of light and sound assaulted his senses. It was blinding as well as deafening. Draco wasn't sure if it would cease.

He lost time.

He was spinning wildly, and for a panicked moment he thought it may never stop.

Dimly, he noticed he was gripping something harshly, as if his very life depended on it. Ironically, this grounded him. His mind had been slipping, and exerted, he tried to remember what it was that had just happened.

His brain grew dizzy with the effort and he immediately squashed that idea. _Fine, since I can't see or hear, I'll just focus on what I'm holding. It's firm, yet pliant_ …his mind lapsed again and then it hit him. _Potter! I had just managed to hold on to Potter!_ He tried to open his mouth to call out to the barmy Gryffindor, but no sound would leave his mouth.

He held on tighter to his partner, fearful of what would happen should he let him slip. His mind wandered again and he started worrying that this would never end.

Abruptly, it did just that.

They landed with a hard thud over thick shrubs and sharp twigs.

Body aching, Draco let out an audible groan. "Potter, are you there?"

His question was greeted by silence, and Draco grew troubled. With all the strength he could muster, he rolled to his side, rolling off of the bush he'd landed on and onto the soft ground. He saw Harry just to his left.

"Potter," he tried again. "Potter get up. We need to figure out just what kind of a mess you dragged me into."

Weak and throbbing, Draco prodded him in the side. The brunet wizard moaned, but to Draco's annoyance, didn't bother getting up. The sodding Gryffindor would have to get up sooner or later. Draco flopped onto his back and stared at the sky, which was much darker than it had been previously. How long had they been in that cave?

Staring up at the dark blue sky, he noticed immediately that it was not ancient trees that looked down on him, but rather, thick, large leaves that looked oddly like they belonged in a jungle. Where the bloody hell were they?

A flash of silver caught his eye, and he saw the damned necklace, lying in between him and Potter. He reached for it, then hesitated, instead reaching for one of the thick banana leaves. Careful not to directly touch the stone, he wrapped the necklace up and placed it in his pocket. He sensed that whatever odd power the necklace held, it was dormant now, but he couldn't be too safe.

He glanced again at Potter, wishing the stubborn bloke would get to his feet.

When the wild woman arrived, it appeared that decision was going to be made for them.

A shadow fell over them and Draco peered up to see the familiar face of Hermione Granger, though quite uncharacteristically, she was wearing practically nothing.

"Did I miss the memo? Was it _dress-like-a-barbarian_ _day_?" he quipped.

The wild-eyed Granger—with hair that truly did resemble a bush-thwacked him promptly on the head.

He fell back to the jungle floor, his last conscious thought— _This was all Potter's fault_.

 **oOoOoOo**

Harry awoke with a groan, feeling pained and uncomfortable.

"Finally," he heard Malfoy say in his familiar drawl.

"Where are we?" Harry felt the heat of flames near his face, and his eyes popped open. The first thing he saw was a huge fire in the middle of what looked to be a clearing in a… _jungle_? Head throbbing he turned, stunned to find Draco tied and bound to a stick next to him. "Good Merlin, are we tied up?"

"You miss all the fun stuff," he answered wearily.

"What's going on?"

Malfoy clenched his jaw, his eyes drawn to the crowd assembled by the fire. Harry followed his line of sight. For the first time, Harry noticed the people and how oddly they were dressed—or weren't dressed. "See them over there? I can't really speak their language, but from what I can tell they're debating on whether or not to kill us, or hail us as gods."

Harry peered at the blond as if he'd grown two heads. "Come again?"

"That's not the worse part. The worse part is they appear to be doppelgangers of our friends from back home. But they're not the same. The Hermione Granger I know doesn't have an arm like _that_."

For the first time, Harry noticed the huge welt in Malfoy's head.

"Did the necklace put us in some kind of dream? Or nightmare, rather?"

"Or it may have transported us to some insane place." Malfoy sighed, watching the group by the fire warily. "They're going to roast us on that spit over there. I think that's the general consensus, anyway."

Harry struggled against his binds. "We have to get out of here."

"For fuck's sake, what do you think I've been doing for the past hour?"

Harry twisted and wrenched his body, feeling the rough vines slip from his wrist. "Malfoy, do you by chance have the necklace?

"Yeah, I wasn't going to leave it lying there. But what good does that-" Malfoy noticed Harry's newly freed hands. "So, there is some slyness in you after all."

Harry chuckled. "The Sorting Hat was going to place me in Slytherin." He went over to Malfoy, hurriedly freeing him of his binds as well.

Malfoy rubbed his wrists, hissing in pain. "Quick, where should we go?"

"Deep into the damned forest. We can set up some kind of ward until we can figure out how to use the necklace again."

Malfoy's tone turned serious. "Maybe we shouldn't use that bloody thing again."

"Well, we can't stay here, can we?"

Malfoy nodded stiffly. "I see your point."

"Come on then." He glanced over to the group of villagers, for the first time noticing a pyramid dwarfing the trees behind them. "We have to escape this sodding place."

"For once, Potter, I couldn't agree more."

 **oOoOoOo**

Draco pressed his back against the tree, sitting with his knees in the air.

"Potter, will you stop that awful chattering?"

"Sorry," he muttered. "This jungle gets colder than Hogsmeade in a blizzard."

"That's a bit dramatic. You're just not used to being unable to cast a warming charm."

Potter furrowed his brows in confusion. "Why do you suppose we can't use magic here?"

"Maybe the forest is enchanted? Warded? Hell, if I know!"

"Then we need to get out of it so we can use the necklace again. Before those barbarians come looking for their missing sacrifices." Harry glanced around nervously, as if the very mention of them would cause them to appear out of the underbrush.

"The Kingsley-look-alike was especially intimidating." Draco shivered at the reminder. "We can walk out to the edge of the forest after we've gotten some rest."

"I don't think I _can_ get rest here. Not with _them_ after us. Not with this chilly jungle."

Draco scooted closer to him.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked in alarm.

He chuckled. "Isn't this the Muggle way? Getting closer to the other person to share body heat?"

"Oh," Harry rasped. "Yeah. Didn't expect you to know about that."

"There are a lot of things I know about that may surprise you, Potter," Draco said with a small smile on his face.

Potter's eyes widened. Whatever answer he'd been expecting, it seemed Draco had certainly taken him off guard. He swallowed, and Draco was momentarily entranced by the way Harry's adam's apple bobbed up and down.

Potter opened his mouth to speak, and Draco suddenly became aware of the wizard's lips. They looked soft and pliant. Draco had to mentally shake himself. It was not good to be thinking about the Golden Boy's lips. He'd endeavored to join this mission with Potter in hopes of forging a friendship with one of the only people, save Hermione, that seemed to be able to look past his history of being a disgraced Death Eater.

The last thing Draco needed to do was screw things up royally by scaring Potter off. He was interested in witches, that was obvious. Whatever issues Draco had been going through in his private life that prompted him to cut things off with Astoria needed to be compartmentalized for a later date.

"So," Potter said cautiously. "What happened with you and Greengrass?"

 _Fuck._ That was just the sort of conversation he was trying to avoid.

Potter seemed to notice his hesitation. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's fine," Draco assured him. "It's just…still so fresh you know?"

Potter looked at him with startlingly green eyes. Draco wondered absently when the wizard had stopped using his spectacles constantly. Even his messy hair was in relative order. The man had certainly changed since their school days.

"Astoria and I were never well suited for each other." Draco fiddled with the hem of his robes. "She's a great girl, to be sure, I expect I'm the problem, actually." Alarms started to go off in his brain, and Draco hurried to rein in the conversation. "I'm just not ready to settle down," he lied, flashing a smile that displayed his teeth.

"I understand completely." Harry sat forward, resting his hands on his knees.

Draco frowned. "You do?"

Potter nodded. "Ginny and I…we've been together since Hogwarts. Everyone expects us to marry and grow old together. But what if that's not what I want? Ginny is a great girl. She deserves a great bloke, I just don't know if I can be that person. I still struggle with _issues_ …issues from the war. I don't want to drag her into all of that."

Draco was momentarily stunned into silence. He had no idea there was trouble in—what looked to the rest of the world to be—paradise.

Shaking himself, Potter drew back against the tree, absently letting his leg fall out to rest against Draco's. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to burden you with all of that, mate. I'm just a bit off, probably from this whole ordeal."

"No."

The dark-haired wizard drew his eyebrows together. "No?"

"No," Draco repeated urgently, staring at him intently. "You're not off at all. You have every right to be happy. You shouldn't feel obligated to do what others expect you to do just to please them. If they're truly your friends, they'll support you regardless."

Potter looked momentarily floored as he met Draco's intense stare. "Do you really think so?"

"If not, they don't deserve to be in your life."

Potter's eyes were so open and honest, so depthless, Draco feared he may get lost in them. There was a moment, though brief, where Draco let his guard down, inadvertently letting Potter see his vulnerable side.

The moment quickly vanished at the sound of indistinct war cries.

Draco swore. "They're looking for us."

The wizards got hastily to their feet.

"Come on, Potter. Hold my hand. I'll carry the necklace until we get to an area where it works again."

Potter didn't argue and immediately reached for Draco's hand. Draco in turn grabbed the necklace, and they were shocked when the felt the necklace power instantly begin to pull them away again.

 **oOoOoOo**

Harry miraculously didn't pass out the second time the necklace was used, but he did lose his breath.

He and Malfoy fell into the strangest sight he'd ever seen, much stranger than the last. This world was a digital cityscape as far as the eye could see. The buildings were oddly shaped, futuristic, with a distinct electronic feel to it. Aircrafts whizzed by at reckless speeds, and Harry could hardly make heads or tails of what he was seeing at this alarming height.

They both fell back against the wall and began half walking, half crawling on the narrow ledge. His lungs were burning and his breaths came in short pants. The air seemed thinner, and he was dying to breathe. They stumbled onto a rooftop of sorts and Harry's breathing became even more strained.

Harry fell to his arse and he looked up just in time to see Malfoy pointing his wand at him. He flinched, not comfortable with the platinum haired wizard's wand pointing anywhere near him.

Malfoy muttered, casting a bubble-head charm that matched his own.

Harry felt sweet air once again fill his lungs and relief flooded him.

"Thanks, Malfoy."

"We need to get indoors. This is only a temporary solution."

Nodding stiffly, Harry followed Malfoy to the adjacent wall, and they both proceeded to edge alongside it, feeling for any sort of entry.

"There's a seam right here," Malfoy said, gesturing to an immaculate expanse of the chrome wall. He pressed at a corner, and a doorway appeared.

Victorious, the two wandered through and found themselves in a hallway of sorts.

"This way," Malfoy said.

Harry was content to let him lead. They traveled through a labyrinth of halls and rooms, until they finally met with a crowd of people.

"We're getting odd stares, Malfoy," Harry whispered.

"Put your hood of your cloak up," Malfoy instructed.

Harry did so, and they walked through the throng of people, mostly wearing some type of skin-tight suit. They passed by another doorway and Malfoy pulled him inside.

Both wizards looked around the foreign pub. It was dark save for a wall of tanks bubbling with different color water. It cast an unnatural glow throughout the bar. Harry and Malfoy went to sit on two stools, watching as others in the bar sipped on strange drinks and pressed tubes up to their noses. They exchanged looks before shrugging and grabbing the tubing at the counter to lace over their own ears and place in their nostrils.

"Oxygen," Harry explained.

"I see that," Malfoy replied. "I suppose in whatever god-awful dimension this is, the air is much thinner."

Harry chuckled, and Malfoy cast him a dubious look. "Either that, or this oxygen is laced with something funny. I feel lightheaded."

"Merlin, Malfoy, we need to figure this bloody thing out. It's a damned nightmare!"

Malfoy gestured for the bartender, a man clad in a cobalt blue jumpsuit. "Something to drink, please?"

The man quirked his eyebrows. "Happy water?"

"Erm, sure. Just start us a tab, if you would."

The bartender's eyebrows rose further still, but he turned to fetch their drinks.

"We need to stay long enough for that necklace to kick in again," Harry said in a low voice.

Malfoy nodded in agreement. "So what do you suppose is up with the cursed piece of metal, anyway?"

The bartender arrived with their drinks, some sort of limegreen, bubbly liquid, and Harry took a grateful gulp. He watched as Malfoy's long, dexterous fingers curled around the glass and he took a drink of his own.

Harry swallowed thickly. "It's like some Muggle science fiction movie. We keep traveling from one world to the next."

"This," Malfoy gestured wildly around the room, "can't be real. It's likely some Patented Daydream Charm gone horribly wrong."

"I don't know," Harry mused. He thwacked the counter with his hand. "Everything seems fairly real to me."

"Rubbish." Malfoy took another drink and Harry followed suit.

 **oOoOoOo**

 _It was all Potter's fault_.

The damned boy wonder. He and Draco had checked the cursed necklace three times, and still it wouldn't activate. So four drinks later, they sat, racking up a rather hefty bill, if he had any sort of guess.

"The bartender's giving us a look again, mate," Draco informed him, trying, and failing to keep the slur from his voice.

"Damn. Did it take this long last time?"

"I can't be certain. I was out for part of it." He gave Potter a meaningful once over, eyes raking over his partner. "And clearly, you were as well."

Potter giggled, he actually giggled, and what was far worse, was that Draco joined in with him. The Gryffindor's laugh was oddly contagious. He might as well be Pansy, being careful to brush up against him on a daily basis in the elevator shaft, as if the silly bint thought now that he was single, he was ripe for the taking. _Fucking Parkinson_. The only thing redeemable about her were her cheekbones. Potter had nice cheekbones. Sort of chiseled and very much defined. _And there I go thinking about sodding Potter again_ , Draco inwardly lamented. His mind had been wandering on and off for the past hour. _Potter doesn't even have the decency to stay out of my bloody thoughts._

He absently fingered the oxygen tubing, pretending to be entranced by the glowing tanks of liquid around him and _decidedly not_ by the bloke sitting next to him.

He must look like a right fool, especially considering the other pub patrons gathered around him. How silly a duo did they look? Draco's lips twisted in a smirk.

"What?" asked Harry, green eyes sparkling.

"I was just thinking what a right, uncommon sight the two of us make here."

"Oh." Potter visibly deflated. "Because you would never willingly drink with me in the real world."

"No." Draco shook his head. "More like because of the situation. Truth be told, I'm having the most fun I've had in longer than I can remember, despite the threat of death at every turn."

"Really?"

Draco placed his hand over Potter's closed fist. "Really," he assured him.

It happened again. That damned moment when Draco became lost in Harry's gaze. He'd always thought his eyes to be green, but if one looked closely, you could just make out flecks of gold.

The moment was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of another pub patron, this one clad in a shiny red jumpsuit that clung tightly to her figure. Her hair was positioned smartly in a bun high on her head, and her heels clicked menacingly across the floor.

Draco felt like he may throw up in his mouth. "Bloody-fucking-hell. _Futuristic Granger?_ As if the rest weren't bad enough."

"Potter, Malfoy." She sneered in blatant disgust. "I've warned you before. You're extracurricular activities must not interfere with work." She frowned at them, disapproval evident in her eyes. "And what are you wearing? Are the two of you moonlighting as period actors?" She let out an indelicate snort. "Nevermind. Whatever you two get up to in your personal lives, is personal and needs to stay that way."

"W-what?" Potter stammered, turning an attractive shade of red. "You can't possibly mean to suggest…?"

Draco got to his feet, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Potter." He grabbed the wizard by the sleeve of his robe. "I'm too hammered for this." He ran his fingers along the necklace, and blessedly, it worked.

 **oOoOoOo**

"I don't believe it," Harry said, looking around with wide eyes. "We're home!"

"Are we?" Malfoy asked, suspicion etched in his voice, feeling immediately sobered.

"This is Diagon Alley, isn't it?" Harry looked around at the familiar buildings, hope swelling in his chest. It even smelled familiar. "This bloody adventure is finally over."

"It's so dead," Malfoy observed. "The streets are practically empty."

"What time of day is it? Either late morning or early evening, I'd wager."

"Either way." Draco stood, wand at the ready. "It makes no sense for the place to be _this_ absent of people. Maybe we aren't in the correct time?"

"Perhaps there's a Daily Prophet flying around here, somewhere, and we can check the date."

"That would be convenient."

Tentatively, with their wands gripped tightly, they made their way down the street. They'd only gone a few meters when they finally spotted fellow magicfolk.

Draco caught onto the hem of his cloak and pulled him into a nearby alley, holding him much too tightly for comfort.

"What the bloody hell, Malfoy?" Harry hissed.

He hushed him, placing a finger over his lips. "Those are Death Eaters", he whispered

His stomach dropped as Malfoy's words resonated. _Death Eaters in Diagon Alley? But there hasn't been dark wizards spotted in ages! What the bloody hell is happening?_

"You're absolutely right, Rowle," a familiar voice drawled. "I'll petition the Dark Lord this very evening, but I'm sure he'll grant us permission to move forward with the decree. The last of the Mudbloods, have they been captured?"

"We've located all the ones we know of, Minister," Rowle responded.

Their voices drifted away. _Malfoy, that's your father_ , Harry mouthed.

Malfoy nodded, his eyes turning hard as steel. They stayed where they were for a few more moments, breathing heavily, before they ventured around the opposite corner, hoods drawn.

"Malfoy," Harry started tremulously. "Why in Merlin's name did Rowle call your father 'Minister?'"

"Good question, Potter." They stopped on the other side of the alley.

"What should we do?" Harry asked paced distractedly.

"Perhaps we can go to Hogwarts," Malfoy proposed. "It's risky but, we can find out more of what's going on…"

"Maybe we can just hide out somewhere until the necklace works again-"

"And what if it doesn't work again?" Draco raged. "What then, Potter?"

Harry's eyes widened in alarm.

"It seems the necklace's power is taking longer and longer to kick in. What if it stops working altogether? We'll be stuck in this world, this Vol-, _You-Know-Who_ controlled world forever. Where they've won, they've actually won, and Muggle-borns are being hunted! We might actually have to figure something out this time. There may be no more worlds to flee to. Each one is more terrible than the last."

"You're surely not giving up on returning home?"

"I'm not giving up. I'm just preparing for the worse."

"Maybe we should go to your father, if he's Minister he'll hold some kind of power-"

Malfoy dragged his hand roughly through his hair. "No, no, that would be ill-advised. I'm not even sure I'm his son, and I bet he wouldn't be pleased to see you. Maybe we can look for Snape? Sneak around Hogwarts and gauge whether or not he's approachable?"

"What if we're spotted by someone else?"

"We can always say we were fancying a visit, feeling nostalgic? I don't bloody know." Malfoy shrugged.

"But Malfoy, what if I'm the enemy in this world?"

Malfoy looked up sharply. "Then it's best you stay hidden."

 **oOoOoOo**

They Apparated just outside of Hogsmeade and took the Shrieking Shack passage to the Whomping Willow. Draco couldn't shake his irritation about not knowing of the passage. He had to admit, Potter was proving he could be quite resourceful. After sneaking around the big oaf's hut, they found themselves rather gratefully, in the strawberry fields.

"What's the plan, Potter?" Draco drawled, plucking a berry into his mouth.

"We sit here and eat strawberries until inspiration strikes us."

"Fair enough," Draco said, falling to his back and resting his head on the soft ground. "I never actually thought, when I took Granger's mission, that I'd be lying in the dirt next to you a mere twenty-four hours later."

Potter chuckled. "Believe me, Malfoy; I never thought so either." Harry continued to pick berries and place them in his lap. "It's kind of eerie, isn't it? Hogwarts, I mean. Merlin, I really hope we aren't stuck here."

"This place is awful, I can already tell."

"Well, you are some kind of royalty here," Potter pointed out.

"How do you think that works?" Draco mused. "I mean, do you think there are two of us here, like copies, or do you think we cancel the other set out? Or do you think we were ever here in the first place?"

"You disappeared about an hour ago." A chilling voice interrupted them.

Draco and Harry bolted upwards at the sound of _that_ voice, just in time to see a wand drawn, and pointed straight at them. Their wands were whirled away immediately from their persons.

"Fucking hell, Potter," Draco cursed. "Dumbledore."

"Language, Malfoy. What would the Minister say?"

"My father?"

"Of course."

Draco swallowed audibly, glancing over to Potter in an attempt to communicate with him silently. He was a skilled Legilimens, maybe he could put the idea in his head? _We can feign to be our counterparts_ , he tried.

"No need to play coy, Malfoy, _Potter_ ," Dumbledore sneered the last word in disgust. "I heard your conversation. Enough to know you're imposters, anyway. Besides, the Malfoy of this world is a Potions Master, much to his father's disapproval. And Potter is…well, dead."

Potter gulped and Draco opened his mouth, vying for time, "What were you doing out here, old man?"

"I often stroll through the grounds," Dumbledore explained, never taking his blue eyes off of them, but they were far from twinkling. "Call it an old man's peaceful hobby."

"You said I disappeared, what did you mean by that?"

"Right there in the dungeon. There were twenty witnesses. Of course we all dismissed it as Apparation, but it seems we were remiss to believe so."

 _Apparation?_

"Headmaster," Harry said, appealing to the older wizard. "You have to help us. Something strange is happening."

Draco winced at Potter's imprudent plead, already pegging this world's Dumbledore for a foe.

"Dear child," Dumbledore said, approaching ever-closer. "I fear you mistake me for Severus."

Harry's eyes widened in alarm, realization dawning on him. _Finally_ , Draco thought.

A muscle clenched by Potter's eye and he stayed thankfully silent.

"You will accompany me to the school grounds, whereupon, I will summon the Minister," Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, "and the Dark Lord."

"Why?" Potter asked, eyebrows drawn together in befuddlement.

"Why? Because you're a good lad Harry. You always do what's expected of you, and you will face your nemesis—it's your destiny."

And there it was. The summary of Potter's life. Always doing others bidding, always doing what was expected. Draco had not known him well, before this trip, but even he had surmised that much.

Potter's eyes hardened. "Not this bloody time."

Potter raised his arm and Draco lunged for it. Magic crackled in the air, and Draco's heart beat sped up as he chanced a glance at a stunned Dumbledore, not too stunned, apparently to wave his wand in a complicated spell pattern. Fortunately, he felt the pull of Apparation before he saw the scenery change, and held on tight to Potter, as the wizard Apparated them wandlessly to the Forbidden Forest.

They fell roughly to the forest floor, Potter pinioned beneath him; Malfoy rolled off of him quickly.

"Back where we started, huh, Potter?"

"Yeah, but wrong forest, I'm afraid. To say nothing of the time."

"So you caught Dumbledore's slip-up about the Apparation?".

"Yeah, I guess there's no need for wards in this universe."

Draco chuckled, but Potter did not join in his mirth.

"He thinks he can control me, just as he did before, just as _they all do_. But I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, _no one's_ telling me what I must do ever again. I'm _done with it_. From now on, I decide my fate," he raged.

Draco put his hands up in surrender. "You don't have to convince me. Should we try the necklace?"

"I mean it, Malfoy. He was a crazy old bat in our timeline, and he's even crazier in this one. He wants me to face Riddle, as if it's some-" Potter let Draco take his hand to check the necklace, and they both held their breath for a second, before it became clear it was still not working, "-as if it's some predestined fate I'm bound to repeat in every lifetime. Well I'm not doing it again. I'm not bending to the will of others. Just like if we were home, I would stride right up to Ginny-"

"Bugger."

"And I would tell her it's done. I _can't_ anymore. All the pressure. It isn't me." He paced through the woods, and Draco wondered absently how one person could appear so animated. Potter certainly wore his feelings on his sleeves. "Bloody hell, but that feels so freeing to say. You've no idea, Malfoy-"

Green eyes collided with stormy gray ones as Draco drew closer.

"Really, you don't-"

"I understand completely."

And then Draco shut the wizard up the only way he could think of how, by kissing him soundly on the mouth.

 **oOoOoOo**

Harry wasn't sure when exactly he became aware that they were no longer alone. In fairness, he was a bit distracted by the slightly evil—no, _definitely evil_ —excellent kisser he was currently snogging like his life depended on it. All those days at the Ministry, all of that pent up aggression, had culminated into _this_. Harry found that once he'd given into his baser desires, he was hard-pressed to stave them.

In the end, he supposed it was the flash from the camera that brought him out of his sensual stupor.

Something was pressing into his hip, and he realized, they were on a table of sorts. _What the bloody hell?_ What was more, there was some type of frosting coating his neck. Eyes popping open in a daze, he hauled himself into a sitting position, just in time to see the camera flash once more. He felt Malfoy, draw himself up, next to him.

To his horror, he was staring out into a crowd of people. _Familiar people_.

"I knew it," Astoria said, with a sadistic curl of her lip.

Hermione's face was frozen in shock, but her dimples were showing, and there was, quite impossibly, humor in her eyes.

Theo, arm around his betrothed, looked distinctly irritated. "You ruined our cake, mate. Did you have to snog on the dessert table, _of all places_?"

Harry cast a sideways glance at Malfoy. The damned Slytherin's face was unreadable, as he straightened his collar in the most nonchalant way fathomable.

Someone pushed through the crowd, and Harry flushed red at the sight of Ginny. "Harry?!" she cried, aghast. If he thought he was horrified before, it was magnified tenfold when he spotted tears forming in her eyes. "Is that where you've been all this time—shagging Malfoy? For a bloody week?"

The camera went off again, and Harry blinked rapidly. "Look, Ginny, I can explain."

"Well, you'd better."

He glanced over at Malfoy again, but the Slytherin was looking straight ahead. He was annoyed to see the corner of his lips turned up in the beginnings of a smirk.

"Don't look to him for answers," she raged.

"Ginny, can we speak alone?"

"Whatever you have to say, _for Godric's sake_ , spit it out!"

Harry sighed. "This wasn't exactly how I'd envisioned telling you."

"Un _fucking_ believable!"

"Oh, sod off, Ginevra," Hermione said, striding over to Harry and pulling him away from the room at large. She motioned to Theo, and Harry presumed it was an unspoken gesture for Theo to drag Draco out of the limelight as well.

She waved off the crowd dismissively. "There's nothing to see here, go about your business, everyone." She turned to Harry, looking at him with concern in her eyes. "You really gave us a scare, both of you! You could have Owl'd if you were only vacationing with Malfoy this whole time. We nearly called off the soirée!"

"The soirée?" Harry frowned. "But that's six days from now."

"Harry, you've been gone a week."

"A week?"

Hermione led him into a sitting room and sat him down on a large sofa. "Yes, a week." Her eyes narrowed sharply. "It seems we have a lot of catching up to do. Do enlighten me?"

"Okay, so long as you promise not to pull a _Barbarian-Granger_ or _Futuristic-Granger_ on me."

"A what?"

"Nevermind."

 **oOoOoOo**

Harry stared at the Daily Prophet, sitting in front of him at the large table. Why did his left side have to be covered in cake? It wasn't even the headline that bothered him, _Chosen One Ensnared by Former Death Eater_ , or the moving image that replayed everything—a pivotal moment in Harry's life, in vivid detail. Nope. It was the blasted cake. He always kept his robes _far cleaner_ than that.

"Well," Hermione said, placing the palms of her hands softly on the table. She looked between Harry and Draco. "That didn't go… _so horribly_."

"Kingsley doesn't believe us, Granger," Draco pointed out. _Good Godric_ , when did Harry begin to think of him as Draco?

"You're right; he likely doesn't."

"But you believe us, don't you Hermione?" Harry appraised her quizzically. "For Merlin's sake, dark Dumbledore took our wands!"

"I believe… _something_ happened. Perhaps the necklace propels you into some dreamlike state. Whatever the case, it seems to have lost it's power now."

"Granger," Draco said, unable to conceal his annoyance. "Just promise us you'll be rid of the damned thing. Give it to Mintumble, and let her propel it into the outer space she so loves. Just so no one has to undergo what we went through."

"It didn't seem all that bad," Hermione quipped.

"We were stressed," Harry said, perhaps a bit more passionately than he intended. "Things…happened." He shifted uncomfortably.

Hermione gave him a knowing look. "I'll give you guys a moment alone, now that all of that's finally squared away." She shuffled her papers and straightened from her seat. "Oh, and for the record, I called it long before Greengrass." They gaped at her, and she smiled saucily before walking off.

Summoning his Gryffindor courage, Harry looked at Draco. "Sorry."

He scoffed. "What are you sorry for?"

"For Ginny…and the things she's been telling the Prophet. For dragging you into this mess."

"You didn't drag me into anything. _I_ kissed _you_ , remember?"

Harry swallowed thickly.

Draco continued on, undeterred. "It's me that should be telling you sorry, but-"

"You don't need to be sorry."

"I was going to say, I'm not."

Harry's eyes widened fractionally. "You're not?" he repeated.

Draco shook his head.

"So, what does that mean," Harry gestured between them. "What does _this_ mean?"

"I don't know. I guess it means I wouldn't mind seeing… _what could happen_."

"What could happen?"

Draco nodded, observing him closely.

Harry's pulse throbbed at his temples. Was this actually happening? Was Draco insinuating what he thought he was? He seemed to be waiting for an answer, and taking a leap, Harry decided to give him one.

"I think I'd like that."

It was Draco's turn to look surprised. "You would?"

Harry grinned, and Draco smiled broadly.

"Good," Draco said.

Relief flooded Harry, and his heart soared. For once, he didn't feel burdened by something he didn't want. His life was in his hands.

Something nagged at the corner of Harry's brain. "Draco, what do you suppose was up with that necklace?"

Draco shrugged. "Perhaps Granger's right. I mean, really, is the witch ever wrong? Maybe it was some kind of dream-inducing-madness."

Harry nodded. That was probably it.

 **oOoOoOo**

"Have fun watching your play?" Nyx called snarkily.

Rowen rolled lazily to her back, staring up at the silver-haired fae haughtily. "Yes, actually."

Nyx skipped around the lake flowers, her wings flapping and causing the air to sparkle around them. "I enjoyed it, too." She cast a glance to the seeing-pool. "Especially the part where that witch said she'll destroy your relic once and for all."

Rowen sighed dramatically, rolling her iridescent eyes.

"I swear to the Unseelie King himself," Nyx continued. "Those worlds would have plummeted us into madness. They were horrible."

"I thought they were fun," Rowen bit back, jabbing Nyx playfully.

"And those poor humans. Wizards or not, you scandalized them."

"They didn't mind so much."

"The queen would have been livid. She would have unsung your song in a heartbeat."

"You're not getting a rise out of me," Rowen informed her fae friend.

"Why's that?"

"Because the necklace did exactly what it was meant to." Rowen smiled at Nyx brightly. "It brought two people together who otherwise may never have found out they were soulmates."

 **oOoOoOo**

* * *

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	7. The Fairer Sex

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: The Fairer Sex**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Humor**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: Sexual Content, Language**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **The Fairer Sex**

* * *

"Ladies and gentleman, witches and wizards, it gives me great pleasure to be the one to present this year's Author of the Year award to what will surely be a familiar face to everyone in the room," Abraxas Malfoy proclaimed, gesturing to the table at his right. "Wizards wish to be him, witches wish to be _with_ him, and we all count ourselves lucky to be in the presence of such a brilliant, captivating literary mind."

There was a rousing spattering of applause and Gilderoy smiled, pretending not to know that such effusive praise could not possibly apply to any other man in the room. He winked at Kennilworthy Whisp, raising his goblet in mock salute, and was filled with an unspeakable rush of satisfaction as the other man glowered sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest.

 _Better luck next year, you hulking buffoon,_ Gilderoy thought smugly, taking a hearty sip of mead from his monogrammed goblet. _This is my year, and you know it._

 _Twat,_ Kennilworthy clearly mouthed back to him, but Gilderoy gleefully ignored him, fixing his gaze instead on the pretty witch holding the trophy that would soon grace the mantle of his London townhome. She smiled discreetly at him and he sat up slightly, recognizing promise in the pert curve of her lips. He watched curiously as the young brunette tossed her hair around her shoulders, emphasizing the window of silk that draped against her neatly framed breasts and asserting the kind of deliberation that Gilderoy was loath to disregard.

 _Ahh_ , he thought with certainty, downing the remainder of his glass as he watched the witch's face. He would be getting his cock sucked within - he paused, checking his watch - twenty minutes or less, he determined, the window of exactitude depending entirely on whether or not Abraxas, the owner of the Wizarding Press (among several other Malfoy commercial ventures) would fucking _get on with it._

" . . . and so it is an honor and a pleasure to present this award to my most profitable writer," Abraxas continued, "the greatly esteemed, effortlessly charming, truly _inimitable_ man about town - Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Gilderoy stood, letting his best _who, me?_ expression paint itself gratuitously across his lips before tossing a smirk at Kennilworthy and rising to his feet, the deafening sound of applause ricocheting around the room. He strutted handsomely to the stage, shaking Abraxas' hand and noting a surreptitious slip of the witch's fingers, depositing something in his pocket as he accepted his trophy.

"Well," Gilderoy said, facing the crowd. "I'm not one for speeches of course - I'm a writer," he explained with a wink, "I let my quill do the magic - but in this instance, I must thank my publisher, Abraxas," he gestured, and Abraxas nodded his head, "and the many men here today who have helped further my career." He paused, jauntily raising an eyebrow as the crowd leaned in for the punchline. "Or else their wives," he added with a smirk, "who helped make it palatable."

"Oh Gilderoy, you dog!" Abraxas laughed heartily.

Gilderoy smiled, a gentleman's smile, and a thousand shutters clicked.

"Another round of applause for Gilderoy, please!" the announcer suggested, gesturing, and the men and women at every table rose, showering him with boisterous shouts of congratulations.

"Oh please," Gilderoy said humbly, gesturing for them to sit. "Nonsense, friends, I must protest."

Across the room, Kennilworthy threw his napkin down on the table and walked out, the double doors swinging shut behind him. Gilderoy cheerfully returned to his seat, unfolding the slip of parchment in his pocket to reveal the presenting witch's name and address. He looked up and smiled a smile of satisfaction.

In that moment, all things considered, Gilderoy Lockhart might have confused himself for God.

 **oOoOoOo**

Lucius Malfoy wandered through the halls of the manor home which his father Abraxas, thankfully, was finally vacating. Once his parents had settled themselves elsewhere, he assumed, Narcissa might finally consent to actually _wed_ him rather than continue to drag her feet in purposeless hesitation.

 _Speaking of Narcissa,_ he thought, frowning as he eyed the clock, _she's late._

Being her fiancé, Lucius reasoned that he would be permitted at least the right to collect her from her home, and so he approached the Floo, tucking his elbows in purposefully and enunciating the name of the Black family's northern estate. He stepped out, his heels sticking soddenly against the eroding wooden floors that had not seen renovation for centuries, seeking out his future bride.

"I don't know about this," she was saying, and he could hear the frown in her voice. "Lucius and I are only engaged, you know, and I'm not sure I'm really in a position to ask any favors of his family yet, considering the concessions they've made on my dowry - "

"Oh Narcissa, surely you've not forgotten," the other voice said, a mix of girlish sweetness and careful cunning that Lucius guessed was one of her friends from school, "that you owe _me_ a favor? I'm referring, of course, to the time that Bellatrix and I caught you with your hands down the trousers of a certain - "

"Yes, yes, I remember," Narcissa said hurriedly, her poised, authoritarian voice squeaking slightly, and Lucius frowned, glancing down at his own trousers with disappointment. "I haven't forgotten that I owe you, of course - I'm merely questioning why _this_ , of all things, would be the payment!"

"I want it," the other woman replied, her tone even. "What's it to you why I do?"

"A book, though," Narcissa remarked, sounding skeptical. "About - what, again?"

"It's called _The Fairer Sex,_ " the other woman supplied, "and it's important to me. A pet project." She paused, and there was a rustle of skirts as she must have stepped closer to Narcissa. "I believe there will be a great payout in its publication."

"Well," Narcissa ventured hesitantly, "I suppose I _can_ vouch for your writing talent."

"You certainly can!" the other woman sniffed. "And surely _you_ , with that face and _that_ figure, should have no trouble getting whatever you wish out of Malfoy's father," she added, in a tone that struck Lucius as a challenge of sorts.

"I suppose," Narcissa confirmed, sighing. "Fine, then. I'll speak to him this afternoon after I meet Lucius at Malfoy Manor for tea."

"Oh, Cissy, darling," the woman proclaimed warmly, "you absolute _treasure_ \- "

"No promises," Narcissa warned quickly. "And I'm sure there will have to be some concessions on my part, which I do not thank you for."

"What kind of concessions?" the other woman asked curiously. A bit _too_ curiously, in Lucius' mind. " _Surely_ not - "

"No, not like that," Narcissa said hurriedly. "Just - I assume he'll want me to go forward with the wedding."

"Which you are planning already, are you not?"

"In pieces," Narcissa ambiguously agreed. "I suppose I'm not quite in a hurry to tie myself down, though I'm realizing that's probably foolish. What with an _engagement_ and all that."

"Not foolish at all," the other woman cooed reassuringly. "Though it _is_ inevitable, don't you think?"

"True," Narcissa conceded. "So if that will move things along for your book, then so be it. Oh," she added, as though something were just occurring to her, "are you publishing under your real name?"

"No, I plan to use a pseudonym," the other woman said. "No need to drag the details of my identity into my work, don't you think?"

"I suppose not," Narcissa agreed. "What name will you use, then?"

"I hadn't decided," the other woman said. "I had a lovely cat named Rita once. Had these adorable markings around her eyes, like spectacles. That's a bit charming, isn't it?"

"Rita," Narcissa replied thoughtfully. "Hmm. What about . . . Rita Skeeter?"

"That's an absolutely _dreadful_ name," the other woman said with a violent shudder, then paused. "Narcissa, darling, it's just perfect."

There was a shuffle in the kitchen as the two women prepared to exit and Lucius tiptoed quickly back to the Floo, sending himself home and heading straight for Abraxas' office.

"Father," Lucius barked, bursting into the room. "Narcissa is going to ask you something, and you _must_ agree to her request."

Abraxas looked up, a look of dubious boredom passing across his wrinkled features.

"Fine," he muttered, glancing back down at his newspaper.

 **oOoOoOo**

 _ **Six Months Later**_

"I'm so sorry," Anna - or Adeline? No, Aurora, he was quite certain it was Aurora - whimpered imploringly, hiccuping through her incoherent speech of apology. "Mr Lockhart, I'm so, _so_ sorry, surely there is something I can do - "

He sighed in exasperation. "Aurora," he began, "you have to understand - "

"It's Marjorie," she wailed.

"Right, as I said, Marjorie," he continued, a bit perturbed by her cheek, "this is really one mistake that simply cannot be undone." He stepped forward, patting her shoulder. "Really, love, I don't think there's a need for all this fuss - "

"But Mr Lockhart," she sobbed, making him increasingly uncomfortable with her hysteria, "I really _need_ this job, and I know you're very particular with your staff - "

"I am," he agreed. "And that, my dear Marlene, is why - "

"Marjorie," she sniffed, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Yes, fine," he sighed, "that, my dear, is why I _must_ let you go. I'm very choosy about my pomades, you know," he said, gesturing to his expertly coiffed hair. "My look is my brand, you see, and I can't have my brand being tainted by careless mistakes by my employees. You've very nearly destroyed me, Miranda, and I - "

"Please," she sputtered, reaching out to press herself against him. "Please, Mr Lockhart, if you would only just give me another chance - "

He glanced down at where her body was flush against his and willed himself not to give into the same mistakes he'd made the previous week. They were _so_ _hard_ to get rid of after he'd fucked them, and it was truly a burden to deal with an unending river of tears.

"I have to run, Aurora, you understand," he said, patting her head and pulling away. "Very important things to attend to, being who I am." He disentangled himself from her grasp, slipping out the door. "I wish you the best of luck, darling," he added, flashing her his most beatific smile. "Oh, and before you go" - he gestured around his office - "pick up a bit, won't you?"

She hiccuped again, nodding slowly.

"That's my girl," he said with a wink, and then slipped out the door, apparating to Malfoy Manor for Abraxas' latest to-do.

Fuck, what he wouldn't give for a decent shag, Gilderoy lamented, appearing within the front hall and striding purposefully through the foyer. The guests were mostly youthful and attractive women this evening, he noted immediately, pleased that this was clearly not another gathering to celebrate one of Kennilworthy's latest catastrophically dull homo-erotic quidditch narratives.

"Hello, gorgeous," Gilderoy said, slipping over to a woman in a set of alluringly fitted ivory robes and placing his hand amicably on her waist. "Have you seen - "

"Excuse me," she demanded, slapping his hand away. "How dare you?"

"Oh, come on, love," he tsked, bowing low. "Apologies if I've managed somehow to offend - "

" _Managed_ to _offend_?" she repeated, scowling. "If your hands are so eager for a place to rest, I'd suggest you go home," she sniffed, "and put them on your - "

"Ah, Gilderoy!" Abraxas barked, suddenly materializing to grab him by the arm and pull him firmly away. "So lovely to see you!"

"And you," Gilderoy returned, slightly bemused. " _That_ woman was not exactly - "

"Hush," Abraxas said instantly, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Did you read the book like I told you to?"

"Which book?" Gilderoy asked, frowning as he tried to remember. He smiled at a lovely witch in turquoise robes and she - quite rudely, in his estimation - made a point of turning her back on him and raising her nose in the air.

" _The Fairer Sex_ ," Abraxas reminded him. "You know, the book that this release party is _for_."

"Ah, right, that," Gilderoy said vacantly, offering a wink at a witch in marigold. She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Merlin's bollocks," he determined, feeling as though he had stepped through another dimension to a world where he was somehow less handsome. "Is my hair out of place or something?"

"You didn't read it, did you?" Abraxas hissed, yanking Gilderoy off to the side and fuming in his silent, slightly comical way.

"Don't be ridiculous, Abraxas," Gilderoy sniffed, grabbing a glass of elf-wine from a levitating tray. "People read _my_ books, not the other way around."

"This is an _exception_ ," Abraxas snapped in agitation. "I specifically told you not to attend this party without having read it, did I not?"

"Abraxas," Gilderoy said, giving him a look, "I'm your most celebrated author. You can give me a synopsis." He took a sip of his wine, thinking. " _The Fairer Sex,_ you said?" he recalled. "Is it some kind of silly romance novel?"

"Worse," Abraxas determined, lips pursed. "It's some kind of feminine empowerment manifesto."

Gilderoy laughed, a gentleman's laugh. "Oh, how kind of you to humor them," he said, shaking his head. "I'm sure it will still sell its twenty copies, whether or not I've read it."

"That's the problem," Abraxas growled. "Every woman at this party purchased an advanced copy. My _wife_ bought a copy," he added, "and she loves it. She's promoted it to all her friends, to all my daughter-in-law's friends - and I tell you what," he sighed wearily, "it's been hell on earth since."

"Have _you_ read it?" Gilderoy asked, feeling a sullen pout creep over what he knew to be his impeccable set of lips. "You can't possibly think - "

"I have," Abraxas confirmed, "and I have to say, the author is quite a skilled wordsmith. I'm hardly her demographic, of course - "

"Of course," Gilderoy snorted.

" - but I can't deny, she's got style."

"What is she, some fifty year old spinster?" Gilderoy asked, making a face. "All alone, and aiming to bring other women down with her?"

"Not quite that, Mr Lockhart," a pert, feminine voice said from behind him. "Aiming to bring other women _up_ with me, as it were."

"Gilderoy," Abraxas said quickly, glaring at him, "this is the author, Ms Rita Skeeter."

Gilderoy stiffened, preparing himself to be revolted as he turned to face her. "Lovely to meet you," he said, with a forced, unpleasant sneer, "and I'm ever so - "

He paused, gaping at the witch before him. She was far younger than he would have ever expected, scarcely over some twenty years old, her extraordinarily lithe figure wrapped appealingly in stunning emerald robes that served to emphasize both the iridescent green of her eyes as well as the honey-blonde sheen of her hair. She lifted her hand, politely offering it to him, and he accepted, his eyes caught on the elegance of her crimson-polished nails.

"Ever so?" she prompted, her scarlet lips twisting into a mirthful smirk. "Have words managed to escape you, Mr Lockhart?"

"It appears so," he managed, making a questionable recovery from the blow of laying eyes on her. "A rarity indeed, Ms Skeeter."

She smiled. "Then I've certainly done a service for womankind."

"Oh, you hardly need to flatter me, Ms Skeeter, I - wait." He blinked, taking a moment to register the insult. "What?"

"Sorry, I'll have to limit my wit for present company, it seems," Rita determined, looking far more pleased than a woman should for not having his face between her legs. "I expect you've not sampled my work yet, then?"

"Haven't had the pleasure," Gilderoy mumbled, and then to his relief, he glanced up to catch a familiar eye, the same lovely blues of the witch who had presented his Author of the Year trophy six months prior. "Oh, excuse me, Ms Skeeter," he said, gesturing gallantly, "but I really must greet my friend, er" - he looked down at her, fighting to recall - "Amelia - "

"I believe you mean my assistant, Felicity?" Rita said, gesturing for the witch to join them. "She did mention that you two had met previously."

"More than met," Gilderoy purred, reaching for her hand and brushing his lips against it. "We had quite a memorable evening, didn't we, love?"

"Did you?" Rita said, cutting in before Felicity could speak. "Tell us, Mr Lockhart, whatever did you do?"

"Well," Gilderoy replied, stiffening in irritation, "we had a lovely dinner at one of my favorite chateaus," he began, guessing wildly, "and spent a long, pleasurable evening in my hotel suite." He smiled at her. "An evening I'll never forget."

Rita glanced sideways at her. "Well?" she prompted. "What does the book say?"

Felicity sighed, meeting Gilderoy's eyes with reluctance. "That I have to be honest with myself about my experiences and demand the respect I deserve," she said, appearing a bit sulky.

"And?" Rita prompted, in a way that simultaneously terrified Gilderoy and also prompted an ill-timed twitch of his cock.

"And the story Gild- _Mr Lockhart_ just told was likely of some other conquest, and I must recognize my error and make a solemn promise to myself not to repeat my past indiscretions," Felicity sighed dutifully.

"Oh, come now, Felicia," Gilderoy said, reaching out to wrap an arm comfortingly around her waist. "I'm sure I was just describing our _next_ date, seeing as our first one was so supremely satisfying."

Rita glanced dubiously at Felicity. "Was it?"

Felicity lifted her chin. "Not for me," she determined, and Gilderoy laughed.

"Surely you are mistaken, love," he informed her, his hand slipping to her lower back.

Rita, obnoxiously, raised one eyebrow, looking expectantly at her assistant; to his utter displeasure, Gilderoy shortly found himself covered in wine, having had the beverage tossed in his face by the rapidly retreating form of his last shaggable hope that evening.

"Good girl," Rita said, turning to follow her, and then paused, beaming over her shoulder at where Abraxas and Gilderoy stood, dumbfounded in disbelief. "Oh, and do enjoy the party, Mr Lockhart," she said softly, batting her lashes and then walking away, cursing them with the enticing sway of her hips.

"I hate her," Gilderoy determined, sputtering with loathing as he watched her disappear.

"Ah, I'm sure you won't have to see her again," Abraxas said, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder.

 **oOoOoOo**

"What did you just say?" Gilderoy demanded, slamming a fist down on Abraxas' desk. " _How_ many copies has she sold?"

"Well over ten thousand in her first month," Abraxas said, drumming his fingers listlessly. "Which means she's sold more copies than - "

"Don't say it!" Gilderoy shouted. "Don't you _dare_ say it, Abraxas, for the ever-living sake of fuck - "

" _More copies than you_ ," Abraxas continued irritably. "Your last book sold perhaps a thousand fewer copies in the same time period and stagnated shortly after, which means I must now shift my focus to - "

"No!" Gilderoy yelped. "No, no, no - "

"To _her_ ," Abraxas sighed. "I'm a businessman, Gilderoy," he explained helplessly, leaning back in his chair. "I'd thought publication was my least profitable enterprise, but suddenly here she is, sending witches everywhere into an utter commercial frenzy - "

"I can do that, too!" Gilderoy exclaimed. "I am _made_ of frenzy-whipping material, Abraxas, unless you've managed to forget - "

"Things have been different over the past few months, unless _you've_ managed to forget," Abraxas reminded him. "Or are you going to dispute that?"

Gilderoy promptly shut his mouth. He was practically a social pariah, cast out of his favorite social clubs because the wives of his sponsors disapproved of his _womanizing_ , disinvited to society events because Rita Skeeter and her hoard of harpies considered him _damaging to their gender._

Ludicrous. As though he had ever been anything but a lover of women!

"Give me a new project," Gilderoy suggested, leaning forward. "Anything. A biography, even, some horrible tross you'd normally give to a waste of space like Kennilworthy - "

"She likes him, you know," Abraxas said, reclining in his chair. "Whisp. Reviewed his last piece as 'not terrible,' and now he's outselling you."

"Balls!" Gilderoy erupted.

"Those are out of fashion now," Abraxas quipped, looking pleased with his joke.

"Give me _something_ ," Gilderoy demanded breathlessly, pacing about the room. "You must, Abraxas, as surely you'd rather _I_ succeed than that - " he paused, making a face, "that horrible _shrew_ \- "

"She has something at the moment that I suppose you can collaborate on," Abraxas remarked thoughtfully. "A piece on Armando Dippet that I'm sure would fantastically bore you."

"I'm bored just thinking about it!" Gilderoy groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "And you want me to _collaborate_ with her?"

"I imagine it might help your reputation," Abraxas mused. "Perhaps you might win her over, don't you think? You're charming, Gilderoy. You're only a little" - he paused - " _rough_ around the edges, I think, considering the sensitivity of the times."

"What if I don't _want_ to win her over?" Gilderoy asked stiffly.

"Then you must consent to disappear into obscurity," Abraxas determined matter-of-factly. "Times only move forward, Gilderoy, not backwards, and you're a relic of a more antiquated past."

"But it's _me_!" Gilderoy reminded him pleadingly. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Man About Town!"

"You'll have to be a Man About something else," Abraxas sighed. "Perhaps prose?"

"You're a monster," Gilderoy growled, crossing his arms peevishly over his chest.

 **oOoOoOo**

"Anything?" Gilderoy asked desperately. "She seems intent on destroying me, Tim; of lessening me to nothing." He slunk down in his chair, sulking. "Tell me you have _something_ on her. "

"Unfortunately not, sir," his P.I. responded sullenly. "Rita Skeeter appears not to have even existed before a year ago, and nobody seems to know who she was before that."

"Balls!" Gilderoy shouted, launching himself up from his chair. "Testes, dicks, and balls!"

"Those are out of fashion now," Tim informed him apologetically, ducking as Gilderoy promptly threw a quill at his head.

 **oOoOoOo**

She arrived in a set of lovely magenta robes, looking more like an angel than any woman he'd ever seen. He immediately choked on a compulsion to kiss her or light her on fire, either option seeming equally stimulating upon sight.

"Mr Lockhart," she said sweetly, placing her crocodile-skinned purse on his desk. "Would you prefer to start right away, or shall we get familiar first?"

"Get familiar?" he echoed, smirking. "Well, I'm certainly not opposed to - wait." He paused, frowning. "That's a trap, isn't it?"

"Ah, not as slow as you look," she determined with a smile. "Lovely."

"I hate you," he muttered under his breath. "You know," he added, louder, "if we're going to be working together this extensively, perhaps we should venture into informality. I'm Gilderoy," he offered. "And you are?"

"Rita," she said primly, "as you know."

"No nicknames?" he pressed curiously. "No pet names you might prefer? To add to your comfort, of course," he added, shoving desire from his bones as he eyed the cut of her robes. "My office is your office."

"Rita will do," she said, a knowing smirk twitching at her lips. "Shall we start?" she prompted, pulling a quill and parchment from her handbag and taking a seat across from him. "I thought it might be practical to begin by splitting up responsibility for the events of Dippet's life."

"Fine," Gilderoy sighed, falling into his chair. "You can do his early life, and all the other insufferable details. And I," he thought carefully, "can cover his political career, including his scandals before becoming Headmaster of Hogwarts - "

"Gilderoy, please, I would hardly entrust the task of writing scandal to _you_ ," Rita scoffed, pursing her crimson lips. "Surely we'd like to _sell_ these books, wouldn't we?"

"Are you implying that I can't write a scandal?" Gilderoy demanded, letting his palm slap audibly against the wood of his desk. "How _dare_ you, madam - "

"It is certainly _not_ an implication, it is fact," she sniffed. "I, clearly, would be _far_ better suited for covering his indiscretions. Consider, for example, his seduction of the French Minister for Magic's wife - "

"You dare offend me with skepticism at my ability to write a _sex_ scandal?" Gilderoy asked, insulted to the very core of his being. "I assure you, Rita Skeeter, you have crossed a line!"

"Let's see then, shall we?" she said, a metallic glimmer flashing in her green eyes. "Get ready," she snapped at her charmed quill. "Armando Dippet was little more than twenty-six when he first encountered the lovely Gabrielle Moreau, as a special guest at her husband's home - "

Gilderoy waved his wand furiously, conjuring his quill and prompting it across the page. "Armando Dippet, whose roguish good looks at twenty-six years old drew the attention of the voluptuous temptress Gabrielle Moreau - "

"It is said that over dinner," Rita said loudly, "the two were never able to remove their gazes from one another, nor was Gabrielle ever said to leave Armando's line of sight all evening - "

"Gabrielle swung her hips lasciviously for the entirety of the state dinner at the French ministry, her lips plum-red and full, her figure set off impeccably by the haze of expensive champagne that both had drunk, their eyes locked in a battle of seduction - "

"The moment her husband's back was turned," Rita continued, her voice half a shout, "Gabrielle pursued Armando, drawing him into the dim light of her quarters and letting him run his hand along her bare thigh in the silvery gleam of moonlight, drawing him close to her breast - "

"Her breasts, which were full and heaving as she panted Armando's name," Gilderoy yelled, "glowed temptingly, her breathy moans filling Armando's ears as she brought her lips to his - "

" - their tongues dueling for dominance," Rita belted hoarsely, "tangled and tormenting, the carnal vibrations coursing through them as their hips ground in a synchronized dance of desire - "

" - he grasped the swelling piston of his manhood in his hand, springing free from his fashionably tight trousers and leaking his damnable craving, demanding its heady release - "

" - the explosive tingling of her thighs, the slick quivering of her quim as she lowered herself to her knees, hungering for a taste of his engorged, thirsting member - "

" - abandoning sanity in pursuit of the THROBBING PULSE OF HER SEX AGAINST HIM - "

" - STRUMMING THE CHORDS OF HER BODY, THE PRECIOUS TANGLE OF NERVES SWELLING EUPHORICALLY BENEATH HIS FINGERS - "

" - LONGING FOR HIM TO SPILL INTO HER SOAKING WETNESS - "

" - SHE SCREAMED HIS NAME, CONVULSING IN ECSTASY AS SHE ABANDONED ALL CONCEPT OF SPACE AND TIME - "

" - HE CONTINUED HIS RELENTLESS ASSAULT OF PLEASURE AGAINST THE BUD OF HER CLITORIS - "

" - UNTIL NEITHER COULD BREATHE, SOAKED IN SWEAT, SEED, AND PASSION-FUELED SEX-FIRE - "

He gasped, realizing he had somehow come across the desk, yanking Rita against him; their bodies were tangled together, their breaths short and panting, and he had backed her against a wall, both enchanted quills continuing to scribble along behind them as they stared at each other, a horrible realization striking him as he longed desperately to lower his head, to brush his lips against hers, to hold her against him -

" _You_ write it," he managed after a moment, releasing her and backing to his desk, trying to cover his incredibly inconvenient and thoroughly unsurprising erection. "Just - write it and send me the pages, and then we can - "

"Collaborate later, yes, I agree," she said hurriedly, reaching behind her for the office door. "Yes, good plan Mr Gilderoy, Sir Lockhart, well spotted - "

When the door shut behind her, he unzipped his trousers, sighing with relief.

"Hello, old friend," he said, reaching a practiced hand to the swelling piston of his manhood and picturing the curve of her lips, her name traipsing off his tongue like a secret.

 **oOoOoOo**

"Should we talk about yesterday?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Fine."

"New pages?"

"Yes. 5,000 words on Dippet's trip to Liberia."

"Great. Excellent."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

 **oOoOoOo**

"How's it going?" Abraxas asked, glancing up at Gilderoy from his desk. "Has she grown on you?"

He swallowed. "A bit," he confessed, trying not to mention the way her curves begged every day to be touched, and he was growing weaker every minute to deny them; or worse - _much_ worse, as it meant a single fucking couldn't suffice to satisfy his want - that even the most innocuous morsel of conversation with her had become the highlight of his day.

"She's a smart broad," Abraxas muttered gruffly. "Can't deny her that, unfortunately."

"She's - " Gilderoy licked his lips, trying to conjure moisture to the dryness of his mouth. _Beautiful. Independent. Spirited. Feisty. Confident._

 _Perfect._

"She's fine," he offered evasively, wishing instantly to melt into the floorboards.

 **oOoOoOo**

"Rita!" Gilderoy shouted, brushing dust from his shoulders as he stomped into her office. "Rita, I was expecting more pages today on Dippet's early Hogwarts years and you, irresponsibly, have shirked your duty to me, to our entire publication, to _history itself -_ "

"Ah, Gilderoy," she sighed, appearing in the doorframe. "Apologies, but I was entertaining a guest." She gestured inside. "You know Kennilworthy, don't you?"

Gilderoy's eyes traveled slowly from the man who sat at her desk to the open bottle of elf-wine and the two glasses, one which featured a signature crimson stain.

"I do," Gilderoy said, narrowing his eyes. "Ken."

"You know I hate diminutives, _Gil_ ," Kennilworthy replied, nostrils flaring in distaste. "Looks like you'll have to come back."

"Like hell I will!" Gilderoy snarled. "Work comes first, Whisp, so scurry off and - "

"Rita wants _me_ here, and you'd better - "

"Boys, boys," Rita said coolly, stepping between them. "While I do enjoy this devolution to your more primal selves, I'm afraid I'll have to side with Gilderoy on this one. I do have new pages to share, and I suppose we" - she leaned forward, kissing Kennilworthy on the cheek in a way that drove Gilderoy to madness - "will have to take a raincheck on this lovely bottle of wine." She smiled at him, a smile full of meaning. "You understand, don't you?"

Kennilworthy stood, glaring at Gilderoy. "Fine," he spat. "But you'll owl me tomorrow?"

"I'm sure I will," Rita said, gesturing to the Floo, and Kennilworthy stomped out. "Now," she said, turning to Gilderoy, "as for the new pages - "

"What is this?" Gilderoy demanded, gesturing to the glasses and the wine. "Is this some kind of . . . clandestine fraternization?"

"Ah, aren't you such a writer," Rita determined with a chuckle. "It's a _date_ , Gilderoy. Call it what it is."

"It isn't," he informed her. "I won't let it."

"You won't let it be a date?" she repeated, quizzically lifting a pale brow. "My apologies, did I ask you for help with semantics?"

"No, you didn't, and don't think I'm thrilled about that either!" Gilderoy shouted, knowing he was being childish but determining that he didn't care. "You _can't_ date him, Rita - "

"And why not?" Rita asked, perching daintily on her desk. "He's an attractive enough man, an excellent author, he treats women with respect - "

"I - " Gilderoy began, immediately floundering. " _I'm_ attractive!"

"That you are," Rita agreed. "And you're also a terrible human being."

"So?" Gilderoy squawked. " _You're_ a menace! And maybe I made mistakes in my past," he added, "but I can change, and I - "

He hesitated, not wanting to meet her eye.

"You what, Gilderoy?" she prompted.

"I would treat you with respect," he muttered. "I would treat you like the goddess that you are."

There was a pause as the implications settled around their shoulders, dusting them both in a regrettable sprinkle of his sincerity.

"Well aren't you poetry in prose," Rita mused eventually, crossing her legs at the ankles.

"Don't mock me," he snapped. "I may be terrible, but you don't have to be cruel."

He barely realized she had moved until she was standing before him, the smell of her perfume breezing gloriously through his senses.

"No," she agreed. "I don't. It's only that I'm so good at it."

"You are," he croaked. "You are, and I'm only - "

He cut off as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his, the kiss better than he could have dreamt it, the taste of wine and victory joining up to slip euphorically into his lungs. She was fire on his tongue, scalding him to his soul, and he backed her against her desk, lifting her on top of it.

"You're a man who enjoys accolades, aren't you, Gilderoy?" she murmured hazily, nudging his chin up to press her scarlet lips to his throat. "Perhaps you'd like to earn one now?"

"I perform well with praise," he admitted, his heart thudding mercilessly against his chest.

"Good," she said, shoving his head down to her lap and smiling. "Be a good boy and make me come."

 **oOoOoOo**

"I think I'm in love with you," he panted, shoving her back against the wall and thrusting firmly as she moaned, scraping her crimson nails against the bare skin of his back.

"I'm quite certain you are," she replied, before sinking her teeth into his shoulder, biting his name into muscle and bone.

"And you?" he asked, sweeping her desk clean and laying her on top of it, pushing her back to rub against her clit as he slammed into her. "Do you love me?"

There was a glimmer in her eye, and she opened her mouth to answer -

And then she was gasping his name as he fucked her to breathless satisfaction, and he saw stars as he came.

 **oOoOoOo**

Rita Skeeter stepped through the Floo in her fireplace, colliding with her assistant within the span of three steps.

"Oh, sorry Felicity," Rita said, helping the other witch straighten. "Are you quite alright?"

"Mm," the other woman replied evasively, her eyes darting away.

"Felicity," Rita repeated, trying to catch her eye. "Is everything alright?"

Felicity sighed, a burdensome sigh, full of things unsaid.

"Tell me," Rita demanded, sitting her down; part mother, part employer, all brusque authority. "Whatever it is, tell me."

Felicity looked far away, dragging her mind back to the present. "Are you sleeping with Mr Lockhart?" she asked, tentatively biting her lip. "I know it's not any of my business," she added, though it was an empty gesture, as her eyes clearly called for an answer.

"I'm fucking Gilderoy, yes," Rita confirmed, choosing her words with utmost care. "As a utilitarian matter of efficiency and logistical ease."

"Do you think," Felicity began, then closed her mouth, thinking better of it.

"Out with it," Rita commanded, and Felicity sighed, relenting.

"I just wonder if it's really such a good idea," Felicity mused. "I thought you had something to prove."

"I do," Rita agreed, though Felicity could not have known the half of the matter. "His cock has nothing to do with what I showed up to prove."

"No, I suppose not," Felicity said thoughtfully. "But I thought better of you," she said, casting her eyes to the ground, and Rita felt a stirring of stinging remorse. "For all that you've done for women, I would have thought you might - "

"I might not choose a misogynistic fool?" Rita supplied, and the other witch nodded. "Yes, that is always the hope," she muttered in agreement. "I suppose I may have lost track of the broader scope of things when he changed his attitude about me personally."

"It's just that we - _I_ \- look up to you so much," Felicity said hopefully, lifting her chin. "I want to see you succeed, and not to share your success with anyone." She made a face. "Least of all him."

"He _is_ better," Rita sighed. "But I do see your point."

"It's your year, you know," Felicity informed her, smiling wanly. "Author of the Year belongs to you, and I hate to see everything you worked for become a farce when held up to your romantic life."

 _Balls,_ Rita thought fiercely, acknowledging the salience of the other witch's point; though, truly, the phrase was well out of fashion now.

"You're right," Rita agreed, rising to her feet. "Owl him for me, will you?" she asked, straightening her lilac robes - _his favorite color,_ she thought with a pang of guilt - and heading to her desk. "And then owl Abraxas." She paused, running her fingers over the manuscript that sat atop her desk. "Tell him I'll finish Dippet's biography on my own."

Felicity smiled her approval. "I'm proud of you, Rita."

Rita forced an endearing smile, a liar's smile, kicking one of Gilderoy's ties back under the desk. "This is what I live for, darling."

 **oOoOoOo**

" . . . and so it is an honor and a pleasure to present this award to my most profitable writer," Abraxas continued, "the greatly esteemed, effortlessly charming, truly _inimitable_ lady about town - Rita Skeeter!"

The room erupted in applause and she stood, bowing her head gracefully as she took the stage to shake Abraxas' hand and accept her trophy.

"Congratulations, Ms Skeeter," the young presenting witch told her brightly. "Because of you, I plan to be an author myself, if I can!"

"Good for you, dear," Rita said, smiling serenely and turning to the podium.

"Well," Rita began, "I'll make this quick. A thank you to those who failed to believe in me," she said, "because without you, I would never have written a book. And a thank you to those who didn't know who I was," she added, "because now, you'll always know my name." She glanced around the room, catching Gilderoy's eye. He looked sad but was smiling, a lost lover's smile, and when he met her gaze, he seemed sincere.

"To my publisher, of course," Rita added, glancing at Abraxas, "and most importantly, to us." She raised her trophy, blessing them all with her unfailing smile. "The fairer sex."

The applause was tumultuous. She'd always loved an accolade.

 **oOoOoOo**

"So," Narcissa said, sipping her tea. "Are you satisfied?"

"It's the most successful book in a generation," Rita reminded her. "I'm a celebrated author."

"I know these things," Narcissa said, flashing her a look of patrician irritation. "I asked if you were _satisfied_."

"I suppose," Rita lied, stirring a little lemon into her cup.

"You never did tell me the purpose of the book," Narcissa reminded her. "Not that I mind," she added. "It was quite a good idea, marrying Lucius," she decided, tapping an expensive shoe against the rare marble of her floor, "and clearly your book was a success."

"It certainly was," Rita agreed. _In nearly every way, as planned._

"Even the name is starting to suit you," Narcissa commented, taking another placid sip. "I've nearly forgotten you aren't a Rita."

"I have to get glasses soon," Rita informed her, making a face. "I'm becoming more Rita by the day, I'm afraid."

"Ah, well, nothing wrong with that, is there?" Narcissa countered, though she softened, warmed by the thought of their history. "Of course, I liked you just fine when you were - "

"Nobody," Rita supplied quickly. "But yes, you did, and for that I'm grateful."

Narcissa nodded, surveying the landscape of her elaborate manor home.

"So, one more time," she ventured, careful not to let her voice betray the telling curve of her lips. "Are you satisfied?"

Rita, who was not a Rita at all, sighed, a storyteller's sigh.

"Not like I thought," she replied, and Narcissa reached over, squeezing her hand.

 **oOoOoOo**

There was a knock at her door, and she turned to glimpse his tall frame, his foolishly moussed hair, his ridiculously snug trousers.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," she pronounced, smiling at him.

"Helena Burke," he replied, and she froze, dropping a pot of ink and watching it seep into the floor.

"How did you," she began, choking on the sentence. "Why - "

"I hired a private investigator to look into your background when we first started working together," Gilderoy explained, meeting her eye with his jaunty smirk. "You were intent on damaging my reputation, and I felt some leverage would someday be necessary."

"And he just figured it out?" Rita asked, confused.

"Oh, balls, no," Gilderoy sniffed, waving the thought away. "No, then I learned from you that one should never hire a man to do a woman's job. I found another one," he explained. "Took her less than three days to come back with a name."

"Oh," Rita - who was really Helena - said, lost and uncertain without the shield of her persona.

"I know who you are," Gilderoy added, and Helena crossed her arms.

"Clearly," she remarked. "You've just said my name."

"No," he corrected, "I know who you _are_." He looked sorrowfully at her face. "We went to school together, didn't we?"

"Yes," Helena confirmed, shifting uncomfortably. "I was - "

"In Slytherin," he asserted with a nod. "You lent me a quill once in Transfiguration, and I never returned it."

 _Neither that, nor my feelings,_ she thought morosely, though she shoved her pesky sentiments aside.

"No," she agreed briskly. "You did not."

He took a tentative step towards her. "Why didn't you tell me the truth?" he asked.

"You'd have used it to destroy me," Helena pointed out. "Isn't that precisely why you hired the P.I. to begin with?"

"Well, true," Gilderoy acknowledged, shrugging. "But why do any of it?" he asked, and he reached out, taking her hand. "Why be someone you weren't?"

"To get my quill back," she snapped, and he smiled, a lover's smile, but didn't relent.

"Why?"

She sighed. "So that you would see me," she explained, glancing at her feet. "For once."

"I see you now," he said, lifting her chin. "Fool that I am. I see you now."

"Only because I'm exceedingly clever," she told him, "and have the foresight to play a long game."

"True," he agreed, nodding, his eyes traveling over her face. "But you chose poorly, and if you can't forgive me now, what more can I do?"

"Do you _want_ me to forgive you?" Helena asked, flashing him a look of practiced skepticism. "Seems you'd be better off revealing my identity to the world. Write a book on it," she suggested. " _Scandal: The Life and Lies of Rita Skeeter._ "

"It does have the ring of a bestseller," he agreed, "but truly, you'd do a better job of it. You'd leave the reader with a _much_ more vivid experience with regard to the engorged state of my thirsting manhood - "

"I really would," she confirmed. "I may not have been a star pupil and Prefect, but I do spin a good yarn."

"You do," he said firmly, sweeping her up in his arms. "And if you want to keep this private, so be it." He brushed his lips against hers, whispering against her mouth. "I'd be happy enough with Helena that Rita can go on destroying me."

"She will," Helena told him, fairly certain that was a promise. "You're an easy target."

"Balls," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"Those are - "

" - out of fashion, I know," he concluded grumpily, wrapping his arms around her waist. "But I concede."

"As well you should," she said indifferently, but when she buried her face in the crook of his neck, she smiled.

It was a smile of satisfaction.

* * *

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	8. From Ridicule to Romance

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: From Ridicule to Romance**

 **Rating: T**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: None**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **From Ridicule to Romance**

* * *

3:00 a.m., February 25, 1994

Remus Lupin appeared in Hogsmede with a soft pop and immediately turned toward the Forbidden Forest. If he'd been in his right mind, he would've thought to look around, make sure no one saw him, and that he wasn't being followed.

But Remus Lupin wasn't in his right mind. He was angry, and Moony was much, much angrier.

He'd hoped the long trek to the meeting point would give him time to cool down, but by the time he reached a scruffy, black dog in the middle of the forest, he was still seething.

"Moony," Sirius exclaimed as the dog melted into the man. "He was brilliant! Absolutely bloody brilliant. Moral fiber — that's our boy."

The animagus' excitement clouded his senses, and Remus was grateful for once that his best friend didn't immediately notice his foul mood.

"Did they seriously put Ron _and_ Hermione at the bottom of that lake?" The former professor asked finally, thinking if he showed concern for both, his protectiveness over one couldn't be misconstrued as something more.

 _Mine. Protect. Must. Protect._

Moony had been inconsolable since Lupin had read the evening edition of the Daily Prophet with details of the second task in the Triwizard Tournament. It felt like claws scratching inside his skull. Ideally, he'd be able to see Hermione, to prove to the werewolf in his head that she was just fine. But, that wasn't possible.

Thankfully, Sirius had agreed to a meeting in the dead of night at a spot Sirius, Peter and James used during school to attempt animagi transformations.

"They did. But they were fine the whole time, and you know Harry wouldn't have let anything happen to either of them. Kind of unfair, really, that he loved two in the lake and the rest only cared about one," Sirius' words tumbled from his mouth; he'd always had a habit of speeding through monologues without giving anyone else the chance to say a word edgewise.

"Did you see them after?" Remus pressed for more information, even though he knew his friend wouldn't have much.

"Only from afar, of course, but they were all perfectly fine. The kids woke up from whatever stasis Dumbledore put them in the minute they surfaced." Sirius shrugged.

"And _Hermione_ was seriously what Viktor Krum was most scared to lose?" Remus tried to sound nonchalant, almost joking. "Does he not have an aunt or something?"

It'd been hard enough not to attempt sabotage of some kind on the Quidditch star after he'd asked Hermione to the Yule Ball. Though he didn't have romantic feelings for the girl — yet — he was very protective, Moony overly so.

Sirius chuckled at first but finally seemed to _notice_ his friend for the first time since he'd started reliving the proudest moment of his life with Remus.

"Moony," he asked, tilting his head languidly to the side. "Your heart rate's a little fast. I can hear it."

Remus looked around, everywhere but at Sirius. He couldn't lie. But he hadn't told anyone. He'd never planned on telling anyone. It would be too real if he said it out loud — harder to stay away.

Sirius dragged his eyes over the werewolf, searching for anything resembling an answer.

"Hermione'smymate," Remus' words ran together, as he'd immediately tried to suck them back in once he'd started speaking.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"Hermione is my mate," he said once more, his head hanging in shame.

It felt like a lifetime as he waited for Sirius to say something, _anything_ , when a calloused hand suddenly connected with the base of his neck.

"Ow!" he groaned, glaring up at Sirius while bringing his fingers to the stinging skin. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, "I didn't choose this!"

"Damnit," his friend said, snapping his fingers. "There was a bug crawling on you. Just missed it. Anyway, what were you saying? Your mate is 14?"

Remus rolled his eyes. Leave it to Sirius to say the one thing that'd been sitting in his heart like a large weight as if it were the most normal thing to have ever happened.

"I — yes. I'm not _in_ love with her obviously, she's a child, but I love her and every fiber of my being needs her safe," the werewolf said, clutching at his chest as if he could pull the weight off his heart.

"Of course, Moony, you can't help who your mate is!" Sirius clapped his friend on the back with a comforting smile. "We'll just...you know...wait 'til she's of age, and then it won't be so...weird."

Remus laughed sarcastically. "It won't be weird. Right. Of course you would think that." He ran a hand through his sandy brown hair in frustration. "I'm still 20 years older than she is, even when she's of age. I'm old enough to be her father."

"I bet you 10 galleons that girl had a crush on you last year."

"What! No! That's ludicrous," Remus threw his hands in the air dramatically. "Of course she didn't. That's insane."

Sirius chuckled and shook his head. "C'mon. You're brilliant, dashing, actually the more I think about it, you're both bookworm nerdy types. She's fine with Moony and already knows about it. She kept your secret for like a year without even really knowing you!"

An exasperated sigh escaped Remus' lips as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't really want to talk about this Padfoot. I just needed to know she's ok."

 **oOoOoOo**

 _Friday morning edition of the Daily Prophet, February 25, 1994_

 _SCANDAL! MIDDLE-AGED WEREWOLF 'MATES' WITH 14-YEAR-OLD HOGWARTS STUDENT_

 _By Rita Skeeter_

 _Daily Prophet Correspondent_

 _Just when the love life of Hermione Granger, Hogwarts fourth year, couldn't get anymore_

 _scandalous, this reporter exclusively learned that Remus Lupin, 34, or the werewolf that lives within, has mated with Granger._

 _Lupin, as my faithful readers will remember, held the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts last year until he resigned in disgrace when his dirty (or should we say "furry") little secret came to light._

 _Though little is known about werewolves, there is some research that suggests each werewolf has a "mate" or someone that they are bonded to for life. Even less is_

 _known about this bond, only that it exists for every werewolf, is very powerful, and rare to find._

 _Lupin admitted to my source that he's known Granger was his mate since he met her on the Hogwarts Express last year._

 _When my source, who asked to remain anonymous, questioned the sexual nature of this relationship, Lupin denied having a romantic connection with the minor._

 _Though, I must ask, dear readers, do we believe that while Remus Lupin was teaching at Hogwarts he never came onto Hermione Granger, then a third-year student, not once the whole school year?_

 _And the juiciest question of them all: What will Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Loved and Got His Heart Broken, and Viktor Krum, dreamy Quidditch star extraordinaire, have to say about their love triangle becoming a love square?_

 _Stay tuned._

 _For the latest on Dolores Umbridge's latest anti-werewolf laws, see page A6._

 **oOoOoOo**

5:30 a.m., February 25, 1994

"Miss. Miss. _Miss Hermione Granger_."

Hermione woke suddenly from vicious shaking. Blinking the sleep away, a short figure with large eyes and doubly large ears came slowly into focus.

"Dobby?"

The house elf nodded, his ears flopping this way and that. "Yes, miss. Professor Dumbledore says I am to bring you to him. He says it's _urgent_ ," Dobby's eyes widened as he spoke the last word. Bony fingers wrapped around her blanket and gently tugged it down. "Miss must get up now. Professor Dumbledore says you is to get dressed. Right away. Right away!"

Utterly confused and showing it on her face, Hermione quickly got out of bed and walked to the wardrobe. "Dobby, did Headmaster Dumbledore say what this is about?"

As Hermione began to pull out clothes, the house elf turned around so he wasn't facing her. "He didn't, miss," Dobby said, almost sadly, like he thought he did Harry Potter's friend a disservice by not asking. "Dobby is sorry, miss."

There were just a few beats of silence before Hermione patted the elf's shoulder, both comfortingly and to alert him that she was ready to go. "It's alright, Dobby! Let's go see what he wants at this odd hour."

Dobby nodded, smiling brightly again, and led her out of the Gryffindor Common Room and through Hogwarts more efficiently than she'd ever been able to figure out, all while keeping up a steady stream of commentary and questions about Harry.

Hermione had a few guesses that were plausible about what this could be about and a few outrageous guesses, but nothing would've ever made her think Remus Lupin would be joining her in the Headmaster's office.

He was enraged in a way that reminded her of he and Sirius attacking Peter Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack the year before, but was somehow more angry than that in a way she couldn't place.

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk with a copy of the Daily Prophet splayed out in front of him among trinkets and bowls of candy. His sparkling eyes stared at her from behind moon-shaped glasses. He looked as he always did, though his gaze would flip to Remus and back quickly every few seconds.

The fourth year took the scene in with a deep breath. "Is there something you wanted to speak with me about Headmaster?" she asked after an uncomfortably long silence followed her entrance. Her former professor hadn't outwardly acknowledged her presence as he paced back and forth in the corner of the office.

"Remus, actually, has some news for you," Dumbledore replied in his wistful voice, sending Dobby away before speaking again. "Remus," he said again, turning his attention fully to the agitated werewolf, "she should know before she's forced to read it in the paper. Please, Miss Granger, take a seat."

Hermione turned to look at Remus, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "No thank you, sir. I think I'm good," she said in response to Dumbledore as she grasped the back of the chair in front of her with a shaking hand. She was already the smallest in the room, Hermione didn't want to be at an even bigger disadvantage by sitting. She'd tried to prepare herself for anything, but seeing Remus after trying so hard to put him and her crush out of mind was not something she'd been ready to face.

Remus attempted to swallow the gigantic lump in his throat before speaking, but Moony wouldn't shut up in the presence of his mate. He flinched under her scrutiny and tried to clear his throat, but Moony didn't like that it made him look weak. "Herm-Hermione. You see. Uhm….listen."

The girl turned toward the headmaster in exasperation. The corner of Dumbledore's lips curled up sympathetically at the werewolf. "Take a breath, Remus, please."

Remus closed his eyes, sighed and then took a deep breath in. Just as his eyes popped open, flashing golden, and he moved to speak, an owl pecked at the window. All three turned toward the sound.

With a flick of his wrist, Dumbledore let the creature in, and it landed gracefully on the headmaster's desk. Once he had retrieved the letter from the owl, it flew off with a hoot. Dumbledore turned to look at the pair in his office with a subtle shrug and urged Remus to continue.

"Hermione," the werewolf began, calling the girl's attention back to him, "I know you're going to have a lot of questions, and I should probably have figured out a way to say this gently. But I'm just going to say it. As you know, every werewolf has a mate." Remus paused, and realization slowly blossomed across the witch's face. She immediately moved to sit down. "Well," he continued, "you're mine. My mate, I mean. You're my mate."

Hermione stared blankly, first at Remus and then the headmaster. She swallowed thickly and slumped further into her chair. "Oh," she said finally. "How long have you known?"

"Since I first met you on the Hogwarts Express, well, a couple of minutes before that, actually. I had no idea a thirteen year old was about to walk into that compartment. I'm so sorry, Hermione. You shouldn't have to deal with this." Remus sat down suddenly, as if letting her in on this suddenly lifted a significant portion of the large weight he'd been carrying.

The girl opened her mouth to ask another question, but an owl pecking at the window stopped her. Another letter. A couple more owls — one Hermione could've sworn was the Malfoy family owl — swooped in while the window was open, dropping more letters onto the headmaster's desk.

The three people in the room watched silently as a Great Grey Owl — which Hermione immediately recognized as the Weasley's owl, Errol — landed on Dumbledore's desk and stuck its leg out. A small, bright red letter dangled in the air. Werewolf and witch glanced at each other, and Remus could feel his stomach swoosh and plummet into his knees.

Dumbledore eyed the pair as he carefully opened the howler. Once the seal was broken, the letter levitated and transformed its spine and pages into a mouth; a bookmark served as its tongue.

 _Albus,_ the unmistakable hiss of Molly Weasley filled the otherwise silent room. _What in the name of Godric Gryffindor is going on? Surely, Rita Skeeter has finally started living up to the infamous rumors about her completely making up stories. Because_ I know _if Remus Lupin had decided his mate was that girl, Albus, I know you would have seen fit to inform me of such a thing. If I'd known —_ the voice paused, and Molly took a deep breath before continuing. _Owl me at once, and you better have a plan on how to get Remus to see that this is outrageous. It's not love; it's wrong._

Silence filled the room once more as the howler shredded itself. Hermione's knuckles were white from gripping the arms of the chair she was sitting in. "How in the bloody hell did Rita Skeeter find out about this before I did?" Hermione ground out through clenched teeth, all other logistical questions about the situation having evaporated from her mind at the Weasley matriarch's words. She was trying desperately to keep her cool, but Rita Skeeter had a particular efficiency for getting a rise out of her.

Remus stood once more, returning to his pacing. "She must have been following me," he said, bringing his hands to his head in frustration. "I came to the forest tonight to meet Sirius and ask about the task. Moony was freaking out after I read you got put in that lake. I told Sirius there. It's the first time I've ever told anyone. She must have been in that forest hiding somewhere. I'm furious with myself that I wasn't more careful."

He turned to Hermione, walking toward her slowly. Remus stopped short of standing in front of her. Though he stopped himself, her former professor looked like he wanted to touch her, to comfort her. His eyes were pleading with her to understand.

She'd never seen such a thing. She'd never imagined Remus Lupin — the real one, not the one from her daydreams — would be acting this way toward her, of all people.

"I'm so sorry," he said finally. "You don't deserve to be in this situation in the first place, and you definitely deserve better than Rita Skeeter writing this stuff about us."

Hermione stared at him — partly in shock that this was all happening, partly in confusion that this was even possible, and partly in desperation. She wanted him to comfort her. It was like her bones yearned for it. "I want to read it," she responded as calmly as she could.

The headmaster levitated the front section of the morning edition of the Daily Prophet and sent it toward her. It slowly dawned on Hermione that this was still fresh information; the letters and howler Dumbledore had already received this morning were just the beginning.

She grabbed the floating papers from the air and was immediately hit with a headline so big it rivaled those regarding Harry. "SCANDAL!" she read and the word echoed loudly in her head. Breathing deliberately in and out, Hermione scanned the story. She grew angrier with every word; she could practically hear Rita sneering them at her. Without realizing it, she was crushing the paper in her fists tighter and tighter the more she read.

Suddenly, she threw the paper to the ground beside her and stood, turning her head back and forth, glaring at the men in the room, silently demanding an explanation. Remus wasn't meeting her gaze. She stared at them, pleading with her eyes but unable to speak.

"Do you have any questions, Ms. Granger?" Dumbledore asked, filling the silence.

Hermione rather dramatically plopped her hands on her hips, giving Dumbledore a look that suggested he'd gone absolutely mad — a look, he realized with a mischievous smile, he'd been given many times by many people before.

"Any questions?" Hermione's voice spluttered out of her lips. "I'd like to meet again later today," she turned to Remus before she spoke again, "I'll have a list of questions."

"And I'll answer them the best I can," Remus responded immediately, standing as well. The girl nodded, and the werewolf almost smiled. Dumbledore clapped his hands together softly, but the sound popped enough to draw the attention of the two in front of him.

"Well, Ms. Granger, I think that's settled then. Come by after dinner, and we'll discuss this further. For now, Remus and I have some things to attend to."

Hermione nodded again and excused herself from the room. She practically ran through the empty hallways toward the Gryffindor Common Room.

Remus watched her retreat and then continued to stare in the direction she left for a few moments after she disappeared from view. He could feel Moony's desperation to be near her again on top of his own. Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing Remus' gaze back to the elderly wizard.

Dumbledore had taken the moment to open the letter from the Malfoys and scan its contents. "Well," he said, pushing away from his desk and standing. "Lucius Malfoy has called an emergency meeting of the Hogwarts Board of Governors this afternoon to investigate the possibility of anything inappropriate occurring during your tenure here." The headmaster paused, looking over the tops of his glasses to meet Remus' eyes. "We'll have to deal with them then, but for now, we have a journalist to visit. And after that, I suggest we speak with Dolores Umbridge as well."

Dumbledore walked around his desk and headed toward Lupin, holding out his arm. "I thought you couldn't apparate inside Hogwarts?" the werewolf asked lamely.

The headmaster smiled and gestured with his opposite hand around the office. "Being me has its advantages." Remus smirked, immediately storing the knowledge to tell Sirius the next time he saw the animagus.

As the familiar pull at his stomach meant they were about to pop away, Remus spared one last look toward the door where Hermione had exited. He desperately hoped she was alright.

The student in question was just reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady. She gave the password quietly and hoped that none of the Gryffindors were awake yet, or at least none of her friends. She needed to talk to Harry and Ron, but she didn't want to pull attention to herself. Hermione was grateful that owls didn't deliver the mail until breakfast. No one in the tower would have read the article yet.

Her two best friends weren't in the common room, so she bounded up the stairs two at a time to the boy's dormitory. None of the wizards in the fourth year dorms were awake yet. As she approached Harry's four poster and pulled the curtains open, she tried to slow her heart down. Her mind was swirling with thoughts, questions and names of books to check out from the library. She pulled Harry out of bed and dragged him to Ron's, tugging on the curtains firmly, but trying to be as quiet as possible.

Both boys grumbled angrily at her, but she ignored them as she pulled the curtains closed around the four poster and cast a silencing charm around them. Harry had fallen back onto Ron's pillow next to him, the redhead having scooched over to make room. Hermione crossed her legs at the foot of the bed. "Guys, _guys_ ," she insisted, speaking quietly despite the spell. "I've just got back from visiting Dumbledore."

This caught Harry's attention, but Ron was still fighting consciousness. Harry rubbed the palms of his hands against his eyes and looked around. Hermione immediately brought his glasses up to his face and wiggled them, having grabbed the spectacles after pulling him out of bed. He set the frames on his face and immediately blinked, making eye contact with his best friend once he could see properly. "What did Dumbledore want this early in the morning?"

Hermione took a big, deep breath in through her nose, paused, and slowly let the air out. "You can't freak out, and trust me, you'll want to, ok? So just remember, I don't know anything but this, and you have to be quiet." The girl paused, and Harry nodded.

Ron had finally come to, and he looked at the two invaders of his bed in bewilderment. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"Ronald, I need you to remain calm. I've just come from Dumbledore's office, and you're not going to like what I've just learned." The boy in question's eyebrows wiggled in confusion, and he looked to Harry for confirmation that he wasn't following either, who responded in kind. He looked back toward Hermione and gestured with his hand for her to continue. "I'm Professor Lupin's mate, and Rita Skeeter overheard him telling Sirius so there's an article on the front page of the paper. It will be all over the castle by the end of breakfast."

Silence.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Ron was the first to speak, and Hermione had to fight not to roll her eyes.

"Honestly, do you learn anything here? Every werewolf has a mate. Research suggests that werewolves rarely find their mates; they could be anyone, so it's rare. Apparently he's known since we met on the Hogwarts Express last year. They say it's a lifelong bond, like...soul mates, kind of." As the words left her mouth, Hermione felt her cheeks and the tips of her ears heat up.

Harry had yet to speak, which made the whole thing worse. She desperately hoped Harry would be calm about this. "But he's like 40! Is he in love with you? What's he playing at?" Ron's voice burst through the silence, echoing through the space.

"I don't know much," Hermione said, leaning toward Ron and placing her hands on his legs, hoping to keep him from exploding. "He's never made any sort of advances toward me, of course. Knowing how he feels about his lycanthropy, I doubt he's excited about this. The research says they don't choose who they mate with. It just happens."

Ron held his hands in the air, moving them back and forth as if grasping for answers. "I don't know what to say," he replied after gaping for a few moments. Ron turned toward the friend sitting beside him, looking desperately into his eyes, hoping he would know what to do.

"This is a lot to take in, Hermione," Harry said finally. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione sat back, taking her hands off Ron's calves, as she thought on his question. How did she feel? She hadn't given herself time to attempt to process any of it. It's not like she had a choice in the matter, either. But she did have a choice with what happened moving forward. At least, she thought she did. Didn't she? She shrugged helplessly. "I told them I wanted to meet again later today. I'm preparing a list of questions. But, Rita's article. There's already been a backlash. The hour I spent in Dumbledore's office? He got at least five letters. And a howler! Your mother!" she pointed at Ron, who shrugged, unsurprised.

Harry reached forward, wrapping Hermione in an awkward hug because of the limited space and strange positions they were in. "We've got your back, Hermione. Don't we, Ron?"

Silence followed as Harry returned to his original position and looked at Ron expectantly. Hermione's heart beat wildly against her rib cage. Realistically, she'd woken up this morning with feelings for Ron, despite his actions the previous term toward Harry about the Triwizard Tournament and toward herself over the Yule Ball. It's not like those feelings would just go away. Where did that leave them? "Of course we've got your back, 'Mione," Ron said, shrugging and attempting a smile, which still left her unsure of what this meant for them.

 **oOoOoOo**

 _Sunday evening edition of the Daily Prophet, November 1, 1998_

 _Golden couple splits for good: Werewolf at the center of it all?_

 _By Rita Skeeter_

 _Daily Prophet Correspondent_

 _As the sun set on Sunday and the Wizarding World began preparing for another week, Hermione Granger, war heroine, started a new chapter in her life. Large sunglasses covering most of her face — which no doubt was puffy from crying over the end of her relationship with fellow war hero and one-third of the Golden Trio, Ron Weasley — couldn't disguise the sight of Granger carrying coffee into the home of Sirius Black, which he shares with one Remus Lupin._

 _Lupin, of course, as my faithful readers will recall, announced that Granger was his mate while she was just 14 years old and a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Twenty years Granger's senior, Lupin, a former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the school, has had lycanthropy since he was a child. Though the pair has insisted for years that their relationship is strictly platonic, the Wizarding World has always been on edge about the idea of a famous witch falling prey to the romanticized idea of werewolves made popular by the controversial and steamy novels such as "Under the Moonlight" and "Full Moon Lovers."_

 _Granger ignored repeated questions about the demise of her relationship with the youngest Weasley brother and denied that Lupin was involved in the breakup or her decision to move in with Black and the werewolf._

" _Just because I live with a man, doesn't mean I'm involved with him romantically, though now that I'm of age, I don't see what problem there would be with that. Remus and I are still figuring out what this mating stuff means, just like the rest of the world," Granger said as she passed a line of journalists in the street. "If we could just get some privacy, that would be appreciated at this time. Thank you."_

 _That's all we know for now, lovely readers. I'll leave you with a few burning questions: Why did Granger and Weasley end their relationship? Are Lupin and Granger romantically involved, and if not, when will they be? How will that affect wizard/creature relations? Will anti-werewolf legislation be repealed?_

 _Stay tuned._

 **oOoOoOo**

11:00 p.m., November 4, 1998

Remus Lupin's screams turned to a howl as the full moon reached its peak in the sky, and his face morphed into a snout. From his cage in the basement of Grimmuald Place, the wolf shook its head and snapped at the air, adjusting into its body.

Yellow eyes fell upon the graceful body of a long-haired, brown cat sitting casually on the ground a few feet away. He lowered his head and came face-to-face with the new creature.

The cat's nose twitched as it smelled the wolf up close. Hermione blinked slowly once, twice, three times.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you._

The great beast lowered its snout to the floor and whined. A big, black dog in the corner growled softly when the cat languidly approached Moony. Hermione turned and stared at the dog, meowing assertively.

 _I know what I'm doing._

The fluffy cat's nose and whiskers nudged against Moony's snout. She turned her face and brushed against him again, scent marking. The cat's content purring offered a comforting vibration on the wolf's head.

 _Mine._

She pranced along the length of his body, pressing against the wolf with confidence. Hermione came to face the wolf again and meowed.

 _Your turn._

Moony quickly took the offering and thrust his snout into the butt of the cat. She meowed again, sharply this time. If werewolves could laugh, that's the sound Moony made with a huff as he moved his nose into the brown, silky fur on the cat's stomach, acquainting himself with the new but familiar animal.

Padfoot moved toward the couple with caution, woofing quietly. Two pairs of eyes looked at the dog, and the cat pounced toward the black-furred animal. Meowing excitedly, the cat slid in between the dog's legs. Padfoot sniffed the cat, chirping in recognition.

Moony growled low in his throat, and the animagi snapped their attention back to the wolf. In unison, they bounded toward him. Though it wasn't as wild as back in the days with the marauders, the three animals played and wrestled for hours that night.

Lupin's heart was full and overflowing with emotion and affection. Pack.

As night gave way to dawn, the tall, slender cat curled up in the space inside the crook of the wolf's neck. She purred until both animals fell asleep.

Remus Lupin awoke with a familiar cinnamon and honey smell filling his senses. He tightened his hold around the waist of a petite form. and buried his nose in the soft curls crowding his face. "Mmm, Hermione," he moaned, as the witch's scantily clad bum rubbed against him. A growl erupted from his throat, and the girl turned in his arms, warm, brown eyes innocently glancing up at him.

"What did you do?" Remus almost yelped, pushing her out of his embrace and standing. He glanced around for something to cover himself with, found his shirt near them on the floor and grabbed it. "You could have been hurt! _I_ ," he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and gesturing wildly at himself, "could have _hurt_ you."

Hermione slowly pulled herself up to her feet, stretching calmly.

"I know it's been hard for you to get it through your overly convoluted head that I want you, but Moony doesn't have such issues. He knows what we both want, what we both need —" Remus held up a firm hand to stop her, but she pushed on, "— and he's not afraid to take it."

Remus shook his head, shocked at Hermione's cavalier attitude over spending the night in the arms of a bloody wolf.

He turned from her and stormed up the stairs and into the main house. He stalked into the kitchen where Sirius was making coffee, eggs and toast. "Hey Moony, interesting night, yeah?"

"What the bloody hell was that, Padfoot?"

The raven-haired wizard shrugged lightheartedly. "She was determined. You know how Hermione Granger is when she puts her mind to something."

"So you knew?"

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Knew? Oh dear, Moony, being the most infamous animagus of all time myself, I helped her."

Remus pulled a chair from the table and sat with a huff. "She could've been hurt."

"I knew exactly what I was getting myself into, Remus Lupin," Hermione's sharp tone filled the kitchen as she entered, walking toward the chair next to the werewolf's and facing him. She placed a stern hand on a cocked hip. "You're not as scary as you think, you know."

Remus snorted as his oldest friend handed him a cup of steaming coffee, and he took it gratefully. "I just need you to be safe, and you never will be down there in the basement with me."

Hermione sat, turning a raised eyebrow to her mate. "Says the man who's sitting here at breakfast the morning after a full moon and not up in bed asleep."

Narrowed eyes moved from Hermione's defiant ones down the length of his body. He was sore, sure, but it felt more like he'd spent a night on the town than like he got run over by the Knight Bus, and then it backed up and ran him over again. He sighed, running his hand through sandy blonde hair. She was right. She was always right. She was nearly 20. It was time he accepted that while he was still too old for her and she deserved much better, he and Moony couldn't survive without her.

"When did you learn?"

"I started fifth year, but you know, then I had to help Harry defeat Voldemort and transforming took a back seat," Hermione looked toward Sirius. "Once I moved in here after the war, Sirius helped me through the rest of the process. I signed the papers at the Ministry just a week ago."

Remus placed a tentative hand on Hermione's arm, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. "You were beautiful. Thank you for this."

"Oh, it's not just for you. I can't stand listening to you transform from behind a locked door." Hermione shook her head.

"Hey, I didn't sign up for this sickly sweet stuff," Sirius interrupted, waving his hand through the air as if something stunk. "Get back to the sassiness and attitude."

Hermione hissed playfully from across the table.

Sirius smirked. "Turns out that incident in second year was just a warm up, yeah?"

The table jerked forward as Hermione jumped, morphing mid-air into the graceful feline and running across the length of wood. Wizard melted away into dog, a laugh fizzling out through the transformation and returning as excited yelps. The dog ran from the room, bounding up the stairs with loud steps. The cat chased Padfoot, and rough barks preluded harsh meows.

Remus hoisted his elbows to the table back in the kitchen and rested his chin in his cupped hands. He sighed, laughed, and closed his eyes, taking in the sounds. For the first time in a long time, he felt happy.

Despite being much better off physically than usual after a full moon, Remus still made his way up the stairs after the playful animagi. He fell into bed and curled in on himself, Hermione's scent lingering in his senses.

Before he could fall asleep, a soft, brown ball of fur curled up next to him, her face on the pillow in front of his. Remus scratched his fingers behind Hermione's ears, and she preened, pressing into the contact. Her body was vibrating with purrs. As his hands slowed their ministrations, fur turned to thick curls. Exhausted from her run with Sirius, the witch's body curved into Remus.

The man's breath hitched in his throat as the exposed skin of Hermione's thigh brushed against his own. Instinctively, he used his free hand to grip her waist, pulling her even closer to him. His other hand, still wrapped around locks of her hair, pulled her face up to his.

Hermione rubbed the side of her cheek against his until her warm breath danced along the ridges of his ear, scent marking suddenly felt natural to her even in human form. He shivered at the touch, and the scent that drove him crazy, her scent, surrounded him completely. He was drowning in her.

 _What an incredible way to die,_ Remus thought as their bodies moved in tandem. The hand on her hip moved up to her chin. He gently pulled her face so that they were looking directly at each other. There was a small smile on his lips and a question in his eyes.

She smiled back at him and nodded, bringing their mouths together in a searing first kiss. Remus breathed in sharply, her alluring scent keeping him from pulling away, from again explaining that she deserved more than him. He gave up. She won. He wanted more, needed more. He couldn't control the big bad wolf inside him any longer. He was going to devour every inch of her.

 **oOoOoOo**

 _Sunday evening edition of the Daily Prophet, March 12, 2000_

 _From Ridicule to Romance: The love story of a werewolf and a witch_

 _By Rita Skeeter_

 _Daily Prophet Correspondent_

 _Hermione Granger, the muggleborn war heroine everyone loves or loves to hate, is no stranger to scandal; from an early age, Granger befriended The Chosen One, becoming a central part of the epic that was the fall of Tom Riddle (aka. Voldemort.)_

 _At 14, Granger found herself the unwitting point of a love triangle between Harry Potter and Quidditch star Viktor Krum. In 1994, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was host to the Triwizard Tournament. Ironically, the tournament hadn't been played in centuries due to its violent nature — not all champions lived through the games. The second rise of Vodemort during the third task is well documented and, years later, almost legend. For the careful reader, however, the love lives of some of the key players was just as tumultuous._

 _During the first task of the tournament, Granger was found standing at Potter's side. She helped him mentally and physically prepare for the challenge; and many readers (and this writer) believed she helped emotionally as well, though both parties continue to deny it._

 _Krum, champion for the Durmstrang Institute, took Granger to the Yule Ball that year. If that wasn't enough love drama for one teenage witch, news broke a few months later that a former Hogwarts professor — and best friend to Potter's deceased father during the First Wizarding War — had "mated" with Granger. Remus Lupin had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts the previous year and resigned in disgrace when it became known that he was a werewolf near the end of the second term._

 _Laws through the Second Wizarding War regarding werewolves took away the basic rights afforded to witches and wizards. It was extremely difficult to secure a job or a place to live as a werewolf; werewolves were not allowed to own a business or buy property. They couldn't partner with a witch or wizard, financially or otherwise. Werewolves were viewed as second class citizens — or worse._

 _It was widely believed that the werewolves were working with Voldemort, mostly because the infamous Fenrir Greyback made headlines by working with the dark wizard and causing a great deal of carnage in the magical and muggle communities._

 _Though very little was truly known about lycanthropy back then, mating was a well-known ritual. Every werewolf has a mate, the mate can be anyone, which makes a mate very rare to find. Mating is a life-long bond. A werewolf doesn't choose whom it mates with. But none of what we previously knew about werewolves and mates mattered much when Lupin, then 34, admitted to knowledge that Granger, then 14, was his mate._

 _Chaos erupted in the Wizarding World. Parents were concerned their children would be next; officials reacted swiftly — namely one Dolores Umbridge. Umbridge is still in Azkaban, not only because of her abuse of power in regards to anti-werewolf laws, but also for torture and other war crimes._

 _But the laws didn't stop Lupin from fighting for the light. As a member of the acclaimed Order of the Phoenix, Lupin worked side-by-side with Albus Dumbledore in an attempt to negotiate with werewolf packs and persuade them from following Voldemort. However, even after the war was won and Lupin received the Order of Merlin for his heroism, the Wizarding World at large was skeptical still of the scandalous nature of Lupin's relationship with Granger._

 _"We didn't get together for more than six months after the end of the war," Lupin said in an exclusive interview in Grimmuald Place, where the couple lives with Sirius Black (who spent 12 years falsely imprisoned for the murder of Peter Pettigrew, who, as it turns out, didn't die until near the end of the Second Wizarding War, but that's another story. In fact, "The Tragic Life of Sirius Black" is on sale now at your local bookstore.)_

 _"He was adamant that I deserved a choice, and he felt like knowing that I was his mate took away that choice," Granger said as she placed a hand over Lupin's._

 _It was a struggle for Granger, attempting a normal life after news of her being Lupin's mate broke. She was already teased relentlessly for her muggleborn heritage and for being so close to The Chosen One. Being romantically linked to a former professor only made the teasing worse and more personal._

 _"When I was teased for being a muggleborn or for seeking fame by befriending Harry, that was an attack on my character. I know who I am, and I never cared what other people thought of me," she said, effortlessly poised. "But when they started insinuating that Remus was anything less than professional toward me until after I was of age, that's not acceptable."_

 _After the war, the couple joined the Ministry under the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures._

 _"My first priority was to educate the public on lycanthropy and dispel a lot of the myths surrounding it," Granger said._

 _Lupin, however, had more than just the good of his species on his mind._

 _"I wanted to repeal the laws against werewolves, specifically the ones with regards to relationships with witches and wizards," Lupin agreed. "I knew I wanted to marry Hermione, legally."_

 _Granger blushes at this, twisting the sparkling diamond on her finger absentmindedly._

 _"I'd waited for him for so long, had to convince him that it was ok to love me," she said. "I'm glad that once I did, he really stepped up and fought for his rights, our rights."_

 _The couple will wed in an intimate ceremony Friday._

 _"You know, when I think back to reading that article in '94 and remember how angry I was at the whole situation, I can't bring back that anger anymore," Granger said. "I sometimes wonder if that article had never been published, would I be here? Sitting next to the love of my life about to get married? Maybe not. I think he needed that time, the world needed that time, to wrap their heads around all of this. That it is love, and it isn't wrong."_

* * *

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	9. The Golden Lady

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: The Golden Lady**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Suspense**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: Sexual Content, Language**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **The Golden Lady**

* * *

 _Why, oh why, do I let my mother talk me into attending these things?_ Draco asked himself for the millionth time that evening as he arrived at a beautiful estate house. The house simply towered over the people dotting the landscape like ants on an anthill. The lawns were immaculately manicured, the flower beds flawless, and there were fairy lights sparkling everywhere. _At least it's pretty_ , he thought to himself, grimacing slightly.

Pulling down the silver brocade vest he wore as part of his black, three-piece suit, he flipped the tails on his jacket behind him, pleased by the answering _snap!_ of fabric, and set off up the long, winding pathway. His top hat rested lightly on his head, and shielded the view of his tell-tale platinum blonde hair which would certainly give away his identity. As it was, the silver mask he was wearing covered three quarters of his face, obscuring his porcelain skin and characteristic sneer, but leaving his grey-blue eyes, gleaming with intelligence, open to the observer.

His mother, always looking for an excuse to placate the pompous and privileged in the hopes of repairing the Malfoy name, had practically begged him to attend this evening and bolster the effects of her recent donation to St. Mungo's new wing for the treatment of magical maladies. _As much as mother ever_ begs, he thought to himself, smiling wryly as he remembered the conversation.

" _Draco, darling, I haven't heard from you regarding the upcoming masquerade ball. Did your letter get lost in transit?"_

" _No, mother, I haven't RSVP'd because I have no intention of going. Why do you insist on dragging me out to these God forsaken affairs? You know that I hate them, and you know that they all hate_ me _," he responded, trying to keep the pure exasperation out of his voice._

" _Nonsense, they love you Draco, they just don't know it yet," Narcissa countered, straightening yet another centerpiece with her trademark calla lilies in the middle._

" _Right mother, it's just taken them two decades to finally realize my affable charm and impressive gift with sarcasm," Draco drawled, trying to control his temper._

" _Don't you use that tone with me young man," Narcissa snapped, shooting him a particularly icy glare._ I haven't seen that one in a while _, Draco thought to himself, hiding his grin in his cup of earl grey._

" _Sorry mother," Draco replied instinctively, knowing when not to cross her. "I just don't see why you want me there. I've done nothing but cause discord and strife at the last two events that contained the who's who of wizarding society - including the Ministry and the Wizengamot, who both sought to send me to Azkaban, and ruin my career. Need I remind you?"_

" _That was all an unfortunate… misunderstanding, Draco. It's time to let it go," Narcissa said, waving her hand like she could dismiss the pain and inconvenience the whole matter had caused him over the years._

" _If it were that simple, mother, I'd be happy to," Draco said, standing and handing his cup to the house elf who'd been hovering near his elbow._

" _It is that simple. Let it go. Keep attending functions until everyone gets used to you being there. It's what I did, and you can do it too."_

" _But mother, I don't possess even a fraction of your grace and aplomb. How could I ever hope to cope with the situation as perfectly as you did?" Draco quipped, his voice dripping with complement in hope of making her smile, but most of all, in hopes of getting her to let the subject lie._

" _There, there, Draco," Narcissa said, her own voice smooth with sticky placation. "You needn't worry about it - I'll be there, after-all, to give you countless tips and pointers on how to navigate the perilous path that is the aristocracy, post Dark War. You also needn't worry about sending in your RSVP - I took the liberty of sending it in for you this morning."_

" _You_ what _!?" Draco spat, whirling on his mother. The cheeky grin he'd been wearing as she'd verbally sparred with her was instantly erased as he contemplated the prospect of another evening out on the town with the wizarding world's elite._

The cheeky grin was back on his face now though as he remembered how neatly he'd been out-foxed by the Malfoy matriarch. _That will teach me to underestimate her_ , he thought, chuckling reluctantly.

Coming to the top of the driveway, he saw the sign that was intermittently flashing with an arrow pointing to the right of the garden, and the words "this way please!" in what appeared to be twinkling lights. Upon further examination, the sign was actually being artfully drawn by a series of sprites using their own ethereal glow to make the sign light up in the night sky.

As he rounded the corner, he stopped in his tracks and marvelled at the sight before him. Someone had transfigured an old fashioned dance floor of black and white checkered tiles, with something written on each of the tiles. The shrubbery had been artfully sculpted to look like different mythical creatures; a Minotaur, a Hippogriff, and a very sprightly House Elf among the green statues that dotted the lawns. Scattered amongst the garden were small stone tables standing just around elbow height; perfect for resting a drink on while you chatted with a companion. _Or leaning on when you've had too much to drink,_ Draco thought to himself, hiding a smile as he watched who he thought might be Theodore Nott do just that while trying to follow the conversation of who could only be, Astoria Greengrass.

Wandering over to the pair of them, his attention was caught by a flash of gold from the other side of the garden. A slip of a woman with dark hair done in elegant curls, her face masked with ostrich feathers, and her arms gloved all the way to the elbow. He only caught a mere glimpse, but his heart had started beating quickly, and his breath became shallow. Puzzled by his reaction to the woman, he once again tugged down his vest and continued on his chosen path.

"Nott, Greengrass," Draco drawled, giving them a courtly bow.

"I say, what is the bloody point of a bleeding _mask_ , if everyone knows who I am!?" Theo yelled, completely exasperated.

"I daresay it's the way you lean heavily on inanimate objects when pissed that gives you away, dear," Astoria smirked, using a handkerchief to wipe a drop of whiskey, Theo's favorite drink, from the corner of his mouth.

Having nothing to say to that, Theo simply crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

"Have you seen who your dancing partner is?" Astoria asked Draco, glancing over at the dance floor.

"Dancing partner? How is anyone supposed to know who I am if I'm in this bloody thing?" Draco demanded, gesturing to his mask and top hat.

"Go look for yourself!" Astoria demanded, shoving him in the direction of the dance floor. "I swear, you two are horrible. This is supposed to be _fun_."

"Fun," Draco spat, rolling the word around in his mouth like it tasted badly. "Quite."

Not wanting to appear overly anxious to find out who he was paired with, Draco did a satellite tour of the grounds, glancing furtively at the floor as he passed the tiles. _There_ , he thought, wondering how his mother had known what he would be wearing - he'd only gone to the tailors the previous day and the blasted RSVP had been due last week!

 _Man in the Iron Mask vs. The Golden Lady_

"Versus?" he asked quietly, puzzling over the wording of the dance card.

"Yes, I suppose you could think of a dance as a sort of duel," a twinkling voice came from behind him.

Whirling to see who had caught him talking to himself, he spotted none other than the owner of the golden dress.

"Having both danced, and dueled, I can't say that I see the similarities," Draco said smoothly, smoothing out his jacket, and snapping his tails behind him in what now felt like an automatic gesture.

"Well, then I _can_ say, that you've been doing it wrong," the lady said, the laughter evident in her voice.

"I guess we'll see about that, now won't we?"

"Indeed, Mr. Iron Mask. Indeed," she murmured, leaning past him to the table just behind him, picking up a fresh champagne flute. As she reached for the glass, her arm coming underneath his own, the smell of blackberries and spring time wafted to his nostrils, and he amazed as his breath quickened and his pulse seemed to skip in his chest.

"Who are you?" he whispered, his mouth right next to her ear as he breathed her in.

"Mr. Iron Mask, how dare you?" The Golden Lady admonished, lightly slapping his arm as the smile she was holding back danced in her eyes. "This party is all about the mystery, it's all about the _intrigue_. Why would you try to ruin it with something silly, like a name?"

Before he could reply, a loud voice sounded from nowhere in particular, a Sonorous Charm clearly at work. "Ladies and gentleman, would you please find your dance partner and make your way to the floor. As you know, this gala is for charity - so open your purses, dig deep in your pockets and help St. Mungo's add a new wing dedicated to the treatment of magical maladies. Each dancing couple has a benefactor, and the longer they stay on the dance floor, the more money will be donated to the cause. Judges will be wandering throughout the collection of dancers and tapping the shoulders of those deemed… unenthusiastic, to the cause," the man said, chuckling at his own wit. "Dancers, take your places."

Draco made a courtly bow to the mysterious woman who, blast her, still had a smile in her eye, and her voice as she said, "Good sir," even if she wasn't openly laughing at him.

"My lady," he said in return, never one to give up a fight.

As the waltz started, Draco put every ounce of his upbringing to good use. His form was impeccable, and his hand was firm on her lower back, guiding her in sweeping arcs across the dance floor. Her dress, which had a long skirt, was being held up by the ring at the hem that she'd put around her middle finger. _She looks like something out of one of those old time muggle movies_ , Draco thought idly, then shook himself as he wasn't sure he'd ever even _seen_ an old muggle movie. _Where did that come from_? he thought to himself, never missing a step as they were so ingrained from all the lessons he'd had in childhood.

"Why, Mr. Iron Mask, if I didn't know better, I'd say your mind was wandering," The Golden Lady said quietly in his ear, pulling back to look him in the eye.

Draco only had a moment to appreciate the mischievous glint in the most gorgeous honey brown eyes he'd ever seen, before she was interrupting the step and going for a dramatic dip; carelessly allowing herself to fall, not knowing if he'd catch her. Accepting the challenge, Draco spun and caught her, extending his arm so her curls brushed the floor.

There was a murmur of awe from the crowd and a soft tinkling of applause that almost matched the laughter that had bubbled out of his partner. "Touché, Mr. Iron Mask, it seems you were paying attention after all."

"And if I hadn't been?" he demanded, somewhat terse. He was lucky he'd been keeping in good shape, or his back would be more than a little bit sore at the moment.

"Then we would have looked uncoordinated, and foolish, and you would be done dancing with me. Should I take this to mean you're enjoying my company?" she asked demurely, fluttering her lashes at him.

"My dear, you presume too much," Draco responded, his voice haughty and this with aristocracy.

"I think I presume exactly enough," she murmured back, closing her eyes and kissing him softly.

The kiss was heavenly, and all too brief. A quick press of the lips and a breathy sigh that made his stomach tighten and his groin twitch.

"I believe it's my turn to say touché," Draco muttered, trying to school his features behind the mask. The only reply was a delicate chuckle as the music switched to a tango. Draco smiled, his entire expression devilish as he recognized the tune and switched seamlessly to a steamy tango number he'd learned for a cotillion in his youth. "Try to keep up, _darling_ ," he smirked, picking up the pace.

By the end of the number, there were only two pairs left, The Man in the Iron Mask vs. The Golden Lady, and The Phantom vs. The Red Queen - the latter couple being composed of a man wearing a silver mask and a black cape, and a woman with an overly ornate red, voluptuous dress. There was no hiding her identity though; Draco could spot the pug nose of Pansy Parkinson anywhere.

"Could you try a little harder please?" Draco ground out, the sweat starting to drip down his back. "I cannot, and _will not_ lose to Pansy Parkinson and whichever tosser she convinced to done a cape and flap it about that way."

"I thought the cape looked quite dashing," she said, her tone slightly breathless as she whipped her feet back and forth, keeping time to the beat.

"You would," Draco spat, turning her quickly and going in for another deep and dangerous dip.

That had her laughing full heartedly as she tipped her head back and threw one arm over her head. "And how would _you_ know what _I_ would do, Mr. Iron Mask? You don't even know my _name_."

Tired of the game, and being out foxed by a woman who was turning his insides, inside-out, Draco pulled her up close to him, his hands sliding up her sides in time to the music, before he kissed her again, his tongue sliding out to lick her lips, before he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. Gasping, The Golden Lady put her hand to her lip just in time for yet another dizzying spin out to the end of their combined grasp as the music ended on a tremulous crescendo.

The crowd broke out into thunderous applause, with catcalls and whistles coming from all sides. Unbeknownst to the couple, Pansy and her date had been removed from the competition, and the whole crowd had watched their exchange with baited breath. Not wanting to cause a scene, but _needing_ to continue their… conversation, Draco made a graceful bow and waited for his partner to do the same before tucking her hand firmly into his elbow and leading her away from the crowd.

"Where do you think you're going?" The Golden Lady demanded, trying to unhook her hand from his elbow.

"To finish this," Draco said, urgently looking for somewhere they could be alone. _Trust a pure- blood estate to have alcoves,_ Draco thought, praising whichever God might be listening. Turning quickly, he spun his date one last time until her back was up against the stone outcropping he'd found. Wandlessly casting a quick notice-me-not spell, he backed her up against the wall as he scooped one hand under her skirt to find her leg, running has hand up the length as he pulled her knee up around his hip. Daring her to stop him with his eyes, he waited for one heart beat, and then two, before crashing his lips down on hers.

The kiss was nothing like the ones on the dance floor; those had been tentative, and teasing. This was raw, and an all consuming need. Teeth clashed, and his stubble scraped her face as he moved from her lips to her jaw and back again. Her fingers struggled with his belt buckle as he undid the laces of his corset and set her chest free, palming each of her breast with expert fingers.

A small exclamation escaped her lips as she finally freed him from his trousers, and he wasted no time lining himself up with her center and driving himself home. His thrusts were slow, but hard; punishing in their frequency, and the slow, teasing friction. He bit down on her pulse point as he slipped one hand between them, working her with his hand as he continued to thrust, increasing his pace slowly, inexorably.

The Golden Lady leaned forward and bit down on his shoulder, using the padding in his coat jacket to muffle her moans as he drove her steadily towards her own release, and what she was certain would be insanity. Unable to hold back much longer, he worked her with his hand at a frantic pace, beginning to match it to the timing of his pelvis as it slammed up to meet her. All at once, she seemed to tense like a wound up spring and then started to shudder as her release swept over her; her screams muffled in the fabric of his coat. Draco bit down on his own groan as he quickly followed her, his own hips jerkily searching out his own release.

Breathing heavily, Draco set her leg back down as he placed a quick and fairly chaste kiss on her mouth and began tucking himself back in, and righting his clothing. He looked up just in time to see her adjusting her mask, and casting a wandless charm to re-lace the back of her gown

"Well dear, have a good night?"

The pair froze in the moonlight, daring not to look at one another as Draco contemplated his next course of action. For you see, he knew that voice. He knew it very well. It was a voice of his nightmares, a voice he had hoped to never hear with that level of consternation ever again. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic.

"I'm sorry sir, did you just say 'Dear'?" Draco asked politely, trying to keep the strangled tone out of his voice and failing miserably.

"Why yes, Mr. Malfoy, I did," Kingsley said, his tone not betraying his feelings at the moment.

Draco turned and looked at The Golden Lady as she began unlacing her ostrich feather mask. "Come now, Draco," Hermione said, looking at him with that same damn smile in her eyes. "Are you honestly telling me you didn't know who I was?"

"You're too right I am!" Draco said, his mind whirling. _To think the best shag of my entire life was Hermione Granger, the bleeding_ wife _of the Minister for Magic, and a muggle-born to boot._

"Draco darling, what's this?" his mother's voice came to him from just behind the minister. Groaning audibly, Draco took off his mask and rubbed his face vigorously with his hand.

"This, my dear Mrs. Malfoy, is a terrible mistake," Kingsley said darkly, surveying his wife with a gimlet eye.

"Oh, bollocks," Draco muttered.

"Been there, done that, love" Hermione whispered, her eyes still laughing.

* * *

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	10. Her Secret

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: Her Secret**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Triggers: Controlling Behavior**

 **Warnings: Language, Sexual Content**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **Her Secret**

* * *

"Should we be doing this?" The black curly haired beauty asked her lover. His only answer was him placing his hands under her bum and lifting her up to sit her on his desk, not caring when a stack of papers fell to the floor. Before he could deepen the kiss any further, a knock on the door interrupted the pair.

"Excuse me, sir?" Lavender, his assistant's, voice called loudly through the door, "Your wife is on the way up, and she does NOT seem happy. You should cut your meeting with Mrs. Thomas short."

Mrs. Thomas had stilled her movements when Lavender had knocked on the door, but her lover was feeling braver, and had snuck a hand under her skirt and had start to rub his thumb in circles, teasing her. She was at his mercy trapped between his body and the hard desk until he decided to give her a searing kiss before stepping back to fix the hood in his pants and pick his papers off the floor.

Mrs. Thomas quickly jumped of the desk, waved her wand over her body to fix her appearance, and walked over to the door. "I _will_ get this law fixed one day," she shouted as she opened the door, "You mark my words. Ms. Greengrass," Acknowledging the woman in front of her and stomping away.

Ms. Greengrass stepped into her husband's office and slowly shut the door, "Why must you do that to her? She has been coming, what? Three or 4 times a week?"

The man walked over to his wife and kissed her on the cheek, "Astoria, I've told you many times that her law is ridiculous, no one will want to follow if it gets passed. I will never understand why she is following in Hermione's footsteps,"

Turning around he walked back to his desk, but didn't miss the rustling of her coat. Taking a deep breath, he turned around and saw Astoria had thrown her coat to the floor and had black see-through negligee on. Astoria stepped closer to him and whispered, "I just wanted to come and take some stress off of you," Standing behind the desk she bent forward at the waist, showing him that the knickers she had on were crotch-less.

 **oOoOoOo**

Mrs. Thomas stomped all the way back to her office, where she slammed the door,threw her papers on the floor, and took a deep breath. She hated having an affair with the Minister, but Merlin knew that she couldn't resist his chocolate brown eyes and deep, penetrating voice. Knowing that her husband was due to walk into the office in just a few minutes, she sat behind her chair and waited calmly.

"Romilda?" her husband called as he opened the door. Glancing at the floor, he noted the papers, and said, "I guess he didn't approve your elf bill?" Romilda nodded her head yes, and asked her husband, "Dean, do you know why I want the bill to pass?" Dean shook his head no; He had never understood why she had started a bill that she knew wouldn't get passed. Taking a deep breath, she stated, "Hermione and I got close to each other before she passed away last year. We confided a lot in each other, and she helped me see why this law must be in place; We _must_ fight for everyone's rights."

Standing up and grabbing her robes, she said, "I'm going home early," Walking over to her husband, she kissed him on the cheek, lead him out of her office, and made her way to the fires to Floo home.

Once she was settled in at home, she went to relax in the bath before she started dinner for her and Dean. Lounging in the hot bath, her lover invaded her thoughts.

 **oOoOoOo**

Romilda had just heard the news of her best friend Hermione Granger's death. She was in her office sobbing uncontrollably, clutching the note that Harry had sent her as she fell to the ground. Suddenly her door opened and in walked Kingsley. Noticing that Romilda was on the floor, he ran over to her and lifted her up onto the couch along her back wall. Wrapping his arms around her, he whispered words of comfort in her ear.

After taking a few minutes to get control of her sobbing, she glanced up at the Minister, "Why her? I thought that Mungo's had caught the curse it in time." The Minister couldn't meet her eyes as he answered, "Sometimes it progresses too fast. Besides, you know how Hermione was; She thought she was feeling better,so she left the hospital."

Romilda nodded her head and wiped the tears out of her eyes, "I'm just going to miss her; She was like a sister to me." She had paused to take a deep breath when she felt Kingsley kiss the top of her head in a comforting manner.

"Where is Dean?" he questioned after they sat in silence for roughly five minutes. She shrugged her shoulders, keeping her eyes on the ground, "Well," he said, "Why don't you go home early. And don't come back until tomorrow, okay?"

Kingsley leaned forward to kiss the top of her head again at the same time Romilda glanced up, causing their lips to meet.

As their lips met a rush of heat went through Romilda, and she poured all of her excess feelings and emotions into that touch, turning off to brain to live in the moment. The next thing she knew she was laying naked on the floor in Kingsley arms, her chest heaving. Realizing what they had done, she sprung up, threw her clothes on, and fled home.

 **oOoOoOo**

She went to work the next day but avoided Kingsley however she could for the next week. She found she could no longer avoid him when he came to her office and shut the door, waving his wand to place a silencing charm on the room.

"Why have you been avoiding me, Rom?" Kingsley demanded sitting on her desk directly in front of her. Not one to back down from confrontation, Romilda looked Kingsley in the eye and spat out, "I am avoiding you because of what happened last week. I can't believe it happened, and I'm sorry that this happened, I should of been faithful to my husband."

Kingsley shook his head, "You don't see me complaining, do you? Hell, it was the best sex I've ever had. I am _not_ sorry," Kingsley started leaning forwards towards Romilda, and she found she didn't want to stop him. In her mind she'd not stopped thinking about her time with him, the feel of his smooth hands on her thighs and breasts; her memories of their encounter had made her want him all over again. As Kingsley kissed her sweetly he brought his hands to cup her face, ensuring she couldn't pull away and run out.

"I want you," he whispered breaking the kiss. Romilda opened her eyes, and upon seeing the passion that ran through his own, she breathed out a yes and let the fire consume her once again.

 **oOoOoOo**

Jolting out of her memory, she realized that she had fallen asleep and her hands had started to wander. Hearing the faint roar of the Floo, she stood up and walked as she was to greet her husband. By the look on his face and the instant tent in his pants, he was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by his naked wife.

The next morning, Romilda stayed in bed with some sort of head cold. She had been up all night tossing and turning. She had actually been feeling iffy for two weeks, but had powered through. As she rushed out of bed to throw up for the seventh time in the last hour, she decided that she needed to owl for a healer so she could get a potion, and maybe finally get some rest.

 **oOoOoOo**

The healer arrived thirty minutes after she posted her owl. She was oddly familiar, but Romilda couldn't place her until she said her name. "Hello, Mrs. Thomas, I am Healer Patil. What seems to be the problem today?"

Romilda stared at her until it finally clicked, and she blurted out, "You are Padma, right?" Waiting for the nodded to be sure she was right, she added, "I was 2 years behind you at Hogwarts." Healer Patil gave her a small smile, and replied, "I remember you,"

Romilda took a deep breath and finally answered her question, "I've been feeling under the weather for about two weeks, but this morning it got really bad. I couldn't sleep last night, and I also threw up about seven times within a single hour." Healer Patil waited until she was finished speaking and began to wave her wand over Romilda's body. After about five passes of the wand going up and down her body, Healer Patil spoke.

"It looks like you're pregnant, Mrs. Thomas! I'd say about 11 weeks along. I have some potions for the nausea, but you need to make an appointment with a healer-midwife for the duration of your pregnancy."

Romilda just stared at the woman in front of her, the word "pregnant" flashing like a bright neon light in her head. "E-e-excuse me?" Romilda finally stuttered out, "I'm what?"

Healer Patil pulled out the potion that was in her bag and handed it to her patient. "Now, you take two doses of this a day, as each dose lasts for 12 hours. It will not hurt your baby, but you must be sure not take any pain potions or medications without being seen first, as they could interact in ways we don't want."

Healer Patil turned on her heel and walked towards the Floo, "Congratulations, Romilda, I hope you have a smooth pregnancy."

 **oOoOoOo**

Romilda was still in shock when Dean came home from work that day, "Love, are you feeling any better? What is going on?" Romilda looked Dean in the eye, "I'm pregnant, Dean. I'm eleven weeks."

Dean stepped away from the bed where his wife was laying, his eyes downcast, "Eleven weeks ago? But that was while I was in America, talking with the elves for you, wasn't it?" Without waiting for a response, he cried out in frustration and stomped to the study down the hall to drown himself with firewhiskey.

Romlida finally walked into the study an hour after he had disappeared. "Well," she spoke softly as she entered the room, leaving the door open behind her, "I'll pack up my stuff and leave here by tomorrow afternoon."

Dean put down his glass, walked over to his wife, and put his hands gently on her arms. "Don't go, please. Just tell me this: Will it at least look like me?" he whispered so softly that Romilda had to strain to hear him, even with how close they stood to each other.

Tears pouring down her face, she nodded her head and flung herself further into his arms, sobbing out, "I'm sorry," over and over again. Dean didn't say a word, rather just held onto his wife, his tears mixing with hers. Romilda knew that Dean wanted a family, as he had none of his own, but she didn't realize that he would be willing to raise another man's baby.

 **oOoOoOo**

The next morning when she had awoken Dean served her eggy toast in bed, sitting next to her while she ate. "You have to tell him, whoever it is. I will treat this child like it is mine, but I don't want to ever speak of this again." He gave her a kiss on her forehead and got up to walk towards the door. Turning around to face her once more, he asked tenderly, "Who is it, if you don't mind my asking?"

Taking a deep breath, Romilda kept her eyes on her plate and answered: "Kingsley." Cursing under his breath, Dean stormed out of their bedroom and went to work.

After breakfast, Romilda sent an owl off to Kingsley, saying that she needed to see him in her office sometime that day. Then she started to pick out her clothes for the day. As she got undressed, she stood in front of the mirror and turned to the side to see if she could see any signs of a bump, letting out a huff upon not seeing anything. She quickly threw on her clothes and Floo'd to work.

She had only been in her office for an hour when she heard a knock on the door. Knowing it was Kingsley, she waved her wand to open the door, taking a deep breath to settle her nerves.

Kingsley stepped into her office and waved his wand ,setting their usual charms over the room. "I couldn't wait either, darling." He spoke as he strode forward and pulled her into a kiss.

Letting herself kiss him one last time, she knew that sometime over the past year she had fallen in love with him, but he said he never wanted kids, and she knew he would never leave his horrid wife, no matter how many times he said he would. Pulling herself back, she stood from her chair and walked to the other side of the desk, "I'm pregnant Kingsley. It's yours, in case you were wondering."

She saw his face twist in horror. "No, no, no," Kingsley whispered, stepping close to her he yelled out, "Get rid of it Get rid of it ,now!" he grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

Kingsley was holding her shoulders so tight she felt that they would certainly be bruised. Pushing Kingsley away, she shouted, "No! I _will_ have this baby; I don't care what you want." Kingsley took a deep breath and stormed out of her office. Romilda started sobbing, and the moment the door shut, she sat down on her couch and stayed there until her husband came to get her at the end of the work day.

 **oOoOoOo**

A month later, Romild and Dean were sitting her in office eating lunch, deciding what month of her pregnancy she should quit her job, when Kingsley burst through the door, the paper clutched in his hands and a murderous look in his eyes.

Kingsley paused upon realizing that Romilda wasn't alone, then he spoke through his teeth, "Would you excuse us, Dean? Mrs. Thomas, I need to have a word with you."

Dean shook his head no. "I know what's going on, and anything you have to say to _my_ wife you can say in front of me." Kingsley balled up his fist and took a step towards Dean. Romilda quickly walked in between the two men, turning towards her husband, "I'm fine, Dean," she said softly, "Go to your office; I'll come and get you when he leaves." Dean reluctantly nodded his head, gave his wife a long, loving kiss in front of her ex-lover, and walked out of the door.

Romilda barely had time to throw up a silencing charm before Kingsley bellowed out, "What did YOU tell THEM?!"

Romilda waited until he had stopped screaming to ask, "Tell who what?"

Kingsley shoved the paper he held in his hands under her eyes and screamed, "THE PROPHET! Theh 'SPECULATE' I had an affair and the woman in question IS PREGNANT! I had to listen to Astoria screaming at me six hours before I CONVINCED her it wasn't true."

Romilda threw the paper into her fire and sat back down, meeting his eyes as she stated firmly, " _I_ didn't tell them anything, as there's nothing to tell." Wrapping her hands around her slightly protruding stomach, she added coldly, 'I'm having my husband's baby, not anyone else's. What's happening with your wife is your business."

She picked up her wand to wave away the charm, letting Kingsley know that she was done with the conversation. Opening the door so Kingsley could leave he muttered as he walked past her, "Get rid of it." She uttered over her shoulder "Good day Minister," in the iciest voice she could muster.

Entering, her husband's office she ran into his open arms, "Someone apparently told the Prophet that he had an affair and that the woman is pregnant. He also told me to get rid of our baby. Can you please just hold me?" Dean took a deep breath and nodded his head, vowing then to get his revenge on the one man who had wanted to take everything from him.

 **oOoOoOo**

Laying on the crisp white hospital bed, Romilda held her husband's hand as they waited for a healer to come into their room. Dean whispered into her ear, "You were so great, love. So calm when everything was happening. I am _so_ proud of you."

Ten minutes had gone by before Dean stood up and stretched his stiff muscles, "I'm going to see what's taking so long," he said, kissing her on the forehead before he walked out of the room.

Allowing herself to relax for a few moments, she thought back to the start of her day, not knowing that the end result would be her baby.

 **oOoOoOo**

"Good morning, love," Romilda called out as she heard her husband's feet shuffle into the kitchen behind her, "I have breakfast on the table; eat before you go to work." His lack of reply meant that he had already sat down and started to eat.

Sitting across from him she put her hands on her basketball shaped stomach and said, "I have my last appointment with my midwife today and then we just wait for our baby to decide to arrive. I also wanted to go to lunch with your mom before the craziness starts; I know that you aren't on good terms with her, but our baby needs grandparents, and since my parents are gone, I need you to work out your issues and make amends." Dean only nodded his head; he knew that if he objected she would yell and then cry at him, and the house would be redecorated by the time he came home from work.

Finishing his breakfast, Dean stood up and walked over to his wife, kissing on the forehead and dropping another kiss on her belly. He whispered, "Goodbye, my little boy."

"Why do you think it's a boy?" Romilda asked struggling to stand up. Dean reached out a head to help her up and replied, "A father always knows," with a smile.

"Please let me know via Patronus if you aren't feeling well," he added as he kissed his wife goodbye one more time and left for work.

Romilda stared after her husband lovingly for a moment before she walked towards her bedroom to get ready for the day. Her thoughts began wander to how much had changed between them over the past seven months. She would always regret that she had a year long affair, but at the same time, it seem to have made them stronger.

Suddenly, a searing pain in her stomach ripped her from her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she counted out how long the pain lasted, continuing to walk around the room instead of sitting, as she remembered that her midwife told her to walk the pain out. After an hour of the contractions being 5 minutes apart and not slowing down or going away, Romilda sent a Patronus to her husband and went to take a shower to see if that would help. She knew that her baby could come at any time, and she had wanted to labor at home instead of at the hospital.

By the time she got out of the shower Dean was home, and was running around grabbing the hospital bags, reminding Romilda strongly of a chicken as he did so. Laughing at her husband, she took a deep intake of breath and suddenly realized that smetime in the shower the contractions gone down from five minutes to three. She quickly informed her husband of this update, but before she could even finish Dean grabbed her by the hand and dragged her to the fireplace.

She protested the short walk and tried to rip her hand out of his grip, as it hurt her to move. Dean turned to her and pleaded, "Please, Romilda, let's go." She nodded her head once before she called out "St. Mungo's" and was whisked away.

Even though her contractions were 3 minutes apart, her Midwife wasn't sure she was in active labor, so Romilda had to be confined to a bed so the Healers could magically monitor the baby's heartrate. The healer pointed to a machine and they told the Thomas' that the machine was charmed so they could see their baby's heart rate at all times on the screen. After noticing that her baby had a steady heart rate, they informed her that they were going to wait an hour to see if she progressed any.

After forty-five minutes of waiting, Romilda felt a sharp pain that shot through her whole body. Dean was about to call out for a nurse when the on her left started to beep. Glancing at the monitor, she saw that it said that her baby's heart rate had dropped from a hundred and forty-two to 85. Romilda took a deep breath to yell for a healer when five of them came rushing through the door, trying to figure out what happened. The next thing she remembered was her midwife coming in and saying that she had to have a c-section as the baby couldn't breathe during her contractions. Romilda just nodded her head and whispered, "Get my baby out alive."

She only got to look at her baby for two minutes as the healer's had to take away her child to make sure it breath properly.

 **oOoOoOo**

She awoke, the soft cry of a baby bringing her back to the present. Glancing towards the door, all she noticed was a champagne pink blanket in the arms of her husband. Her eyes filled with tears as she held out her arms, hoping to hurry her husband's slow strides.

Finally, her baby girl was placed into her arms, and Romilda felt complete. Her daughter looked exactly liked she had as a baby, but her daughter had a darker skin tone than she had.

"Hello, Aurora." Romilda whispered as she bent down to kiss her daughter on the head. Looking up, her locked eyes with her husband, and she mouthed, 'I love you' before latching her daughter to her breast for the first time.

After Aurora had eaten her fill, Dean took her from her mother's arms and told Romilda to rest, that they would be there and waiting when she woke up.

Romilda was woken up by the sounds of someone shouting outside her room, "You can't go in there, sir. Just because you're the Minister does not give you permission to enter a _private_ hospital room. I will speak with the patient and see if she would like visitors."

Romilda glanced over at Dean, who hadn't stopped talking to his daughter, despite the disturbance. Leaning forward in her bed she caught some of his words, 'Now, I may not have helped make you, but I _will_ help raise you. No matter what, you're mine, little Aurora."

The door burst open and Kingsley strolled inside, bold as brass. "Can I help you?" Romilda seethed as she straightened herself up in the bed.

Kingsley ignored her and stepped closer to Dean so that he could see the baby. Romilda struggled to move but stopped when Dean placed her daughter in her arms.

"Leave now, Minister, or everyone will know that you really do have a child. Your _poor_ wife will be so upset if she found out the rumors were true." Romilda threatened dangerously.

Kingsley took one glance at Romilda's face and saw that she was serious before he turned on his heel and left. Dean leaned forward and whispered, "Let's move to America. We could get away from him, and from this scandal."

Romilda threw her head back and laughed loudly. She nodded once and whispered back, "Let's start our new life."

 **oOoOoOo**

After pulling up to the three bedroom house that they had bought in Florida, Romilda stepped out of the car and heard a, "Hello, neighbors!" from somewhere to her right. Glancing over, she saw a plump, brown-haired, woman walking towards her with a small child hiding behind her legs.

The woman stepped forward and extended her hand, "Welcome to the neighborhood! My name is Sarah, and this is my son, Sam. My husband, Thomas, is at work." Romilda shook Sarah's hand and replied, "Thank you! I'm Romilda, this is my husband Dean, and our new daughter, Aurora. We just moved here from England."

"Oh, that sounds exciting! We have - Sam, No!" Sarah was forced to cut herself short when her son started squealing at a stray cat and attempting to go after it. When Sam was told no, he screamed and a nearby lamp post exploded, glass flying everywhere. Romilda and Dean only exchanged knowing glances, watching as Sarah bent down to reprimand her son.

Aurora started to fuss, so the Thomases waved goodbye to their new neighbors, agreeing to make plans to meet later in the week, once they had gotten settled into their house.

Romilda was thankful they had magic to move their furniture; it only took twenty minutes to pull their bedroom together so that Aurora had a place to sleep that night, as the family was co-sleeping. After eating a dinner consisting of pizza and wings, Romilda sat on the couch next to her husband, putting her head on his shoulder.

"So, our new neighbors seem nice," Romilda giggled out as Dean sucked on her ear lobe. Kissing him on the chest, she whispered, "I'm glad we moved. This is going to be an amazing new start for our family." Dean's only reply was turning his body and kissing his wife soundly, pulling her body onto his.

"Speaking of our family," Dean murmured into his wife's neck, "How would you feel about trying for another?"

"I'm game if you are."

* * *

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	11. The History of Magic

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title:** **The History of Magic**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: Sexual Content**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **The History of Magic**

* * *

 _There lived four wizards of renown,_

 _Whose names are still well known:_

 _Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

 _Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_

 _Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

 _Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

 _They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_

 _They hatched a daring plan_

 _To educate young sorcerers_

 _Thus Hogwarts School began._

* * *

The Ancient Magicks laced through the crisp Scottish evening, darting this way and that, like birds on a Spring dawn; rising and falling and twirling as though in tune with their own desultory heartbeat no living soul should hear. Yet _she_ could feel it, just as she felt them all within it - as easily as she could feel the air surrounding her, and the grass beneath her feet; a thousand sparks moving to an invisible _thrum_ that seemed to trace every one of her fingertips and soar her very heart. It was there, just beyond her conscious, and yet somehow, not really there at all.

As it turned out, the Magicks, however captivating, were not wholly the reason for her visit to the clearing in Gleann Sith one June evening, though they were, of course, relevant...

Some few hundred miles South of the clearing in the Glen, outside of a small church situated on the outskirts of a town named Ely, stood a man. To the untrained eye he would, most likely, appear somewhat of an oddity. His body was, for the most part, entirely still, with the small exception of the long, thin fingers he was moving in a slight and peculiar wiggling fashion. His arms hung limp-like at his sides, and from a distance it would be a difficulty to see the movement his hands were making.

It was, however, not just the way in which this man was standing, _almost_ stark still, on that particularly mild evening. Were he to come across anyone else, they would most definitely have an opinion on the man's choice of attire. The floor length robes and matching cloak he had chosen were, in themselves, not an unusual choice for men of nobility. Likewise were the jewel-encrusted motifs that covered the garments. It was, however, not at all common to see either robes or cloaks that were adorned with patterns that actually moved and embellished with what appeared to be runescript. The runes themselves were so bright they appeared to be crafted from the very stars that had began to creep into the clear sky high above.

It would be hard for any individual to deny that the garments, primarily dark green and rich purple in colour, were beautiful, but the beauty of the strange fabric was an unearthly kind - particularly in the way countless more shades wove and danced their way across the various patterns. They exhibited an unknownness that one might perhaps shy away from, rather than approach. For the clothes, and certainly also, the man who donned them, were undeniably and irrefutably unworldly, at least to the residents of the town of Ely anyway.

The clearing itself was one of relative uninterest to most who either dwelled nearby, or happened upon it during a visit to that particular part of Scotland. There were, arguably, far more appealing clearings nearby, ones far less overgrown and with not so much mud underfoot.

It was, however, Rowena's favourite place in the world and one she had visited often, having been drawn to the place from a young age, certainly as long as she cared to remember.

Rowena breathed deeply, relishing the way the cool air filled her lungs as she stretched her arms wide out to either side. Suddenly, she threw her head of long, dark hair back and snapped her eyes shut, as she allowed the Magicks that surrounded her to attach themselves to her, as they had done so many times before.

Feeling the way the Magicks both strengthened and harnessed the powers that Rowena already possessed, the young woman opened her eyes and observed the full moon overhead, placed on an inky backdrop strewn with sparkling stars. Knowing that somewhere, several leagues south of her current position, _he_ was also beneath the same wondrous night sky, and that anytime now he would also be able to feel the Magicks that were charged within her, and within the very air she breathed.

Using the prompt timing of his correspondence as her main indication, Rowena had made the correct presumption that he would not have left her waiting a moment longer than he had aforementioned. Looking skywards, Rowena quickly spotted and examined the Canopus star, one of the brightest in the sky. The powers the young woman possessed enabled her to see what she had come to refer to as Astral Threads, small lines that bordered specific constellations, what Rowena had always known, though never questioned quite _how_ she knew, were in direct alliance with Time itself.

And she knew that _he_ could see them also...

 _When the thread around Canopus aligns with the Great Ship of Jason, watch for me towards the North Star._

Rowena found the thread around Canopus easily, watching with slight amusement as it weaved and bobbed between various stars before it eventually lined up perfectly, just as he had written, with Argo Navis. Smiling slightly whilst looking to her left and the North, Rowena promptly located the Pole Star she seeked. With a grin into the silence, she allowed her gaze to drop to her own level, and there, at the point directly under where her eyes had trailed to the North Star, between the blackened outlines of the great expanse of trees, was another. Standing tall and straight with his back to her, he was as still as the night itself and exactly where and when he had informed her he would be.

His stillness did not prevail longer than a few mere seconds, and Rowena watched as his cloak fluttered slightly as he slowly turned, the light of the moon revealing his face to her for the first time, just as his eyes, after a few moments of searching, found hers.

The briefest of moments passed between the pair in pure silence, each staying absolutely still. Rowena realised in the small flash of panic that she would later deny that it was one thing to correspond with each other using nothing but parchment and penmanship, but it was another entirely to see and interact with said person in the flesh. Thankfully, her fear was short lived as she watched, breath baited, the man's face before her break into a warm smile, which, despite the fact his face had seemed to emanate a certain coldness beforehand, she noticed with a wash of comfort, reached his eyes.

"This moment," he began, his voice was spoken in such proper English it almost sounded foreign to the ears of the native Scot, "has been denied to us for too long."

"I could not agree more," Rowena replied, meeting his smile with her own as she watched him take the few steps it took to close the gap between them. She allowed her hand to be brought to his mouth and felt her breath catch beneath her corseted chest, not only at the soft brush of his lips against her knuckles, but the clear spark that Rowena would believe to her dying day, was so poignantly incredible that it simply had to have been audible to any random wanderer who might've happened to have been passing by. "Salazar, I can scarcely believe it worked, you're really here."

"I am really here," Salazar replied, a look of unmistakable pride slowly masking its' way over his pointed features, "and the others?"

"If all goes correctly, they will be with us in two nights."

Salazar's look of pride shifted to one of optimism and his right arm rose up, offered to Rowena in a gentlemanly fashion. She accepted graciously and led the pair to the place she had left her horse tethered to a nearby pine.

 **oOoOoOo**

Rowena had never been able to pinpoint the very first time she had the dream, only that the peculiar events had been plaguing her unconscious mind for a number of years. This time, however, was different...

 _Dusk, always dusk, or perhaps the point where the blackest of night gets ready to greet the rising sun, regardless, it was an unimportant detail held within a covering of unease. Rowena's unease. She ran, as she always did, though was running even an appropriate enough verb, she often queried to herself afterwards, despite only having had minimal experience of running. Rowena was fairly certain that it wasn't usual for a human to overtake several horses and what appeared to be a large school of salmon, which just so happened to be swimming not in a river, as one might be accustomed to, but simply in the very air around her, a mass of silvery scales glinting in the small amount of light present._

 _The salmon however, although certainly most bizarre, were most definitely not the biggest cause for Rowena's concern. That acclaim went to the hog. He, or she, Rowena had reasoned many a time throughout the years since she'd first laid a brief, terrified glance over her shoulder at it, that she had never been able to get a good enough look at the hog to decipher its gender, and therefore she had gotten used to her referral of the beast in her mind was always 'it'. The one thing she was always able to get a look at, however, was the animal's large amount of ugly warts. In fact, the hog's warts were in such plentiful supply that Rowena often wondered whether she was in fact running from a warty hog, or indeed a single, large wart that just happened to embody a hog's features._

 _The not-quite-a-forest forest that surrounded the sprinting Rowena, the horses, the school of salmon and the hog was the same as it ever was, sometimes there and sometimes not ever shifting from view. Full of inky black trees that shifted and moved, often disappearing entirely and yet somehow, there was an abundance of bleak and colourless open space. This time, there was a difference. This time, Rowena seemed to have something she never had before, a destination._

 _This newest development to her nightly, subconscious excursions may, in any other circumstance, have been a relief. There was little for Rowena to feel any sense of reprieve from the exhausting chase, however, considering the destination in question seemed to be the edge of a very sharp cliff, that she seemed to be speeding towards at an alarmingly obscene rate, and yet, what was more peculiar still, the area surrounding the cliff edge was taking form far easier than it ever had previous, into a place almost familiar..._

"Hah!" she heard her own voice shout, into the darkness. Rowena knew the bedclothes were damp with the sweat that always poured from her whenever the nightmare took her unconscious, and usually she felt bothered, embarrassed, from the excretion of the fluid, tonight however, she felt exhilarated.

Rowena had failed to notice the body that had been slumbering soundly beside her jump up, as though attacked, and after doing a brief sweep of the the chambers, realise that there was no immediate cause for alarm, and was watching her with the look on his face similarly to the one he had worn whilst she had explained what particular ingredients had been used to cook the haggis he'd eaten earlier that evening.

"My dear, are you hurt?" Salazar asked in a tired croak.

"Pardon? No, no of course not. I've just… I know now...must've needed your Magicks in the room with me...I know where it needs to be!" Rowena replied, her words were muddled but her eyes shone in the small amount of candlelight still left.

"You know where what needs to be?"

"The school! It was in my dream. It's not a new dream, I've had it for years in fact, but the cliff, the cliff was new! That's where the school should be, it's what I've been needing to work out."

"You wish to place the school next to a cliff you happened to see in a dream?" Salazar's look of utter bemusement had diminished none.

"Of course I don't, you foolish man!" Rowena snapped. "I know the place, I was just never able to see it clearly enough before. The cliff isn't really a cliff, it's a loch. The school will have its own loch and forest." She paused to take a deep breath, before continuing, forcing herself to meet his eye as she said, pointedly, "and it shall be called Hogwarts."

"Hog- Are you-? That is the foulest name I have ever-" Salazar stuttered, clearly bamboozled, before one look at Rowena's expression stopped his words in their tracks. "Hogwarts it is!"

 **oOoOoOo**

The week following Salazar's arrival in Scotland had been a number of things for Rowena; intense, happy, and enlightening amongst them. Arguably the most poignant feeling she had become aware of was, stimulation - in every conceivable definition the word possessed.

The man was ruthless, cunning, and determined; remarkably driven and fiercely protective of his powers, his choices, and what he felt was right. Salazar was something of an enigma to Rowena.

It had become apparent to her quickly that whilst he held little stock in conventional rules, or laws for that matter, she was entirely confident that he would stick to his _own_ moral and ethical viewpoints with such a fierce loyalty she had trouble thinking of any other individuals she knew that possessed such a determined presence. In fact, only one came to mind, someone that both Rowena and Salazar had yet to meet in the flesh, although that was due to change, later that day.

"It is still very late," Salazar's deep and proper voice pointed out, gesturing vaguely around the pair to nothing in particular. The sky beyond the arch-shaped windows was a definite inky-black and Rowena realised she had been staring at the nothingness visible through her west facing window since she had woken them both up so suddenly.

"You're right, I apologise for the rather rude awakening," Rowena offered, feeling a slight embarrassing heat creep over her cheeks. "We have an important day ahead, better get back to sleep."

"Hmm, indeed. However, I seem to have found myself in somewhat of a predicament, you see," Salazar answered, the mischievous hint that had lent itself to his voice contradicting his spoken words.

"And what would that be, exactly?" Rowena replied. They were both still technically _in_ bed, but her body had swivelled outwards after waking. Now she turned herself back and met his eyes with her own, rather enjoying the way the flickering candlelight alluded his dark features to his natural mysterious nature.

"I seem to be _entirely-_ " he emphasised the word as his body shifted upwards, so that he was kneeling in front of her. His eyes flickered downwards fleetingly, clearly admiring the way the bedsheet had somewhat fallen from Rowena's body. "-awake again."

Rowena had certainly not had the intention of bedding the man she had been secretly corresponding with for months. In fact, the verifiable fact that she had simply gone unaccompanied to meet him was in itself more than a mere scandal, it was, to certain people, a lot of which Rowena had dealings with in one way or another, an absolutely atrocity.

In the end, she had decided, as they lie side by side, declothed and slick with sweat in her bedchamber a mere two nights after his arrival in Scotland, to give in to the temptation she had felt from the very first night. It was one that in the end, had been out of her control. The Magicks, her Magicks, the part of her she trusted the most, were altered in Salazar's presence. They drew her to him, just as a moth might be drawn to the open flame of a lantern. She could feel it, and after several lengthy discussions, it was conclusive that so could he.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she allowed her powers to the very forefront of her consciousness. The Magicks wove and bobbed their way around her, and then the reached towards Salazar, just as she felt his own Magicks, so startlingly different from her own, but yet somehow to her they felt like home. She was scarcely aware of her right hand reaching forward and was pleasantly surprised when the skin of his chest met her fingertips, his skin turning to gooseflesh at the brush of her touch.

Before Rowena had a chance to think on her next course of action, Salazar's lips were on hers as his arms hungrily grabbed at the bare skin of her back, pulling her body to his as the bedsheets were all but entirely flung aside as she was pulled under his strong torso. Her hands grabbed at the muscle definition of his upper arm, so subtle when not tensed, but now, when his arms were holding himself steady above her, the definition could be felt easily, and it was impressive. His lips moved against hers, before he began to trail a line of kisses along her jawline, slowly, as the ghost of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth with each gasp of air Rowena took.

His hands moved deftly across her pale flesh, the pads of his fingers tracing small circles over the small of Rowena's back. Eventually they landed on the curve at the base of her buttocks, which he used as a sort of leverage to pull her upwards against him. Her legs, as though of entirely their own accord, moved to wrap themselves around his waist, melding her writhing frame against his stable one. His kisses landed back on her mouth once more, and down below she could feel his hard length teasingly nudge her entrance.

Rowena bucked her hips towards him, as his lips caught the soft mewling noises she couldn't help but make. Finally, he thrust into her, a collective hiss present upon both their lips as they joined, in body and in Magick.

 **oOoOoOo**

The following morning Rowena and Salazar awoke lazily at what seemed to be sometime around late morning. The sunlight that blazed through the windows in streaks was casting bright streaks across their intertwined naked limbs.

Scrunching her forehead, her eyes not quite ready for the brightness of the day that was blazing into her eyelids. Finally, after hearing a chuckle from her companion, Rowena braved the vivid light of day and opened her eyes to see Salazar's bright green orbs watching her. His face, Rowena had not taken long to notice, was so often lined with seriousness. Now it looked serene, younger, even. It took her a few seconds, but eventually came to the heartwarming conclusion that Salazar Slytherin looked truly happy.

Forcing her tired and slightly aching body from her bed, Rowena made her way to her washbowl. She filled it magically with fresh water, as cold as she could manage, and after quickly making her flowing dark hair stay in place behind her head, plunged her face into the icy liquid, relishing the feel on her skin.

Rowena was never one to enjoy the heat, not that there was ever particularly much of it in Scotland. Even from when she was but a _wee donn bairn_ , roughly translated to small brown haired child, she preferred the cold. Her late father had affectionately come to call her this endearment before his sudden passing ten years prior during a hunting trip that had gone terribly wrong. It had left Rowena orphaned and all but alone in what turned out to be an even lonelier world with no one who seemed to understand the girl with a head of hair like brown silk and a pair of eyes that perfectly matched the golden eagle she would often be seen talking to - no one that was, until now.

"How are you feeling about today?" Salazar asked from his position still on the bed.

"Good," Rowena answered, drying her face quickly with a brief twitching of her fingers. Her mind drifted to that evening when she and Salazar were to be joined by two others; friends with whom they had both corresponded with multiple times, and as much as Rowena had enjoyed and embraced Salazar's company, she was very much looking forward to having some new company. Especially since she knew that the whole reason the meeting between the four had been arranged in the first place was that they not only shared in the extraordinary powers Rowena had been graced with, but they also shared her greatest wish, hope and dream; to open a school for those like them, without a fear of prejudice, or superstitious nonsense that had seen numerous Magickal folk have to endure barbaric and heinous practises at the hands of suspicious civilians who knew very little of the so called _truths_ they constantly spouted.

Rowena had actually known one woman who had been burned alive at a stake in the middle of the nearest town, and the realisation of how slight the line was between Rowena's own powers remaining hidden, and her secrets being discovered, her to be put on trial and sentenced to burn alive, was a harrowing one.

From that moment, witnessing such a _reckoning_ with her own eyes, Rowena had never felt wholly safe, even in her own home. She felt confident she could defend herself, if the time ever came, but had a deep, unresolved emotional bundle of nervousness and anger at the very thought that she may one day have to.

Unless somewhere existed, a place where there was a possibility for her, and those like her, specifically those most vulnerable, to be guaranteed safety and guidance.

The moment of painful nostalgia back to the day of the woman's witch trial must have revealed itself somewhat on Rowena's face, as Salazar's lean physique slowly rose from the bed and padded the short distance that separated himself from her. Rowena felt a pair of strong, yet lean arms wrap themselves around her, his embrace perfectly mastering the balance between both the intimacy and comfort she needed in that moment.

"Today is the first step, my love," Salazar murmured, between deep breaths as his face got lost in her long, dark locks.

"You're wrong," Rowena answered, pressing her face against his chest, "the first step was this, us."

"Mmmm," Salazar moaned against her temple, "well in that case, it will take something extra extraordinary to surpass that first step."

"That's the plan," Rowena chuckled, her arms snaking their way upwards to circle Salazar's neck, a shiver of anticipation jolting through her as she felt his fingertips trace small circles over her waist.

"I have a surprise for you."

"You do?" Rowena queried, a fleeting disappointment creeping into her mind as she doubted Salazar's surprise involved returning to bed.

"I do, you weren't the only one I contacted regarding my plans to travel north," he spoke between the numerous kisses he was planting on Rowena's jaw.

"Oh?"

"Tell me, are you familiar at all with the Ollivander family?"

 **oOoOoOo**

"Look at its handle, oh, it's just so beautiful!" Rowena gushed, her brand new wand gripped in her right hand.

"In that case, it is most definitely suited to its owner."

Rowena smiled at his response, enamoured by both the powerful instrument she now possessed, and the man who had made her possession of it possible.

They had visited a small family homestead that afternoon, travelling around twenty-five miles south of Rowena's home, such a short distance that she had found herself somewhat annoyed that she had never held any knowledge of the Ollivander family beforehand when she had been so close to them.

The wand itself was made of Fir, a wood that Mr Ollivander had informed her was known as the _survivor's wood._ She had liked that, it certainly felt to Rowena that being a survivor was a positive attribute to possess.

"And it has dragon hair in it!" She said, excitedly.

"Heartstring," Salazar corrected, smiling, "but essentially, yes. You'll be able to focus your energies and harness your powers a lot easier now."

"Will we be able to charm my diadem now, like your locket?"

"I believe we will, yes."

 **oOoOoOo**

It had taken the pair into the evening until Rowena was happy enough with the Magickal properties her tiara now possessed, but eventually, they got there. Rowena had done most of the charming herself, calling her powers to her in a way she never had before and focussing them into her new wand.

Rowena favoured intelligence and creativity, she was both studious and artistic and had a deep seated respect for individuals who were logical, and equally, those who possessed a sharp mind full of wit.

Being a woman meant that Rowena was seen as less than every man. The majority of men that Rowena knew believed that women should be seen and not heard, and so it was a beautiful refreshment to her that Salazar not only allowed her to speak fully, without ridicule or the threat of physical violence, but actually engaged her thoughts, debated her ideals and welcomed her creative ideas with enthusiasm.

"The wearer's intelligence will increase?" Salazar asked, turning the relic over in his long, slender fingers.

"Of course not," Rowena replied, harsher than she intended even in spite of her opinion of the question, which had been, she mused briefly to herself, a daft one, "it will allow the person wearing it to tap into the intelligence they _already_ possess, but may not necessarily have harnessed, himself, naturally.

"And what of one who possesses very little intelligence?" Her companion queried, a mischievous smile creeping on his face as he did.

"Then it will focus their creative energies, but, you know, intelligence comes in many different forms, especially in the most unassuming of individuals."

"Very wise, my love."

"Yes, I am, rather."

 **oOoOoOo**

"We are definitely at the correct location?" Salazar asked, a look of disgust creeping onto his dark features as he gazed around their current position.

The pair were standing on something of an island, only a few metres or so across, a small mound of land that jutted out from what appeared to be a large bog. Salazar was most definitely less than impressed with their present situation.

"Of course we are!" Rowena retorted, slightly harsher than she had meant to, her patience with Salazar's unwillingness to just, as she had told him to, _let go and enjoy the scenery,_ was grating on her slightly. _Only a bit of bog,_ she thought to herself with an internal tut, torn whether she should shake her head or laugh at Salazar's current expression.

An loud bang, slightly left of the two broke Rowena's train of thought. Both she and Salazar swivelled to where the sound, and now a large purple cloud of some sort of smoke, had come from.

Rowena could hear voices, first faintly, as though carried across a fair distance. However, the noise was increasing in volume rapidly, and before long Rowena could make out two distinct tones - one male, most certainly English, but with a less polished accent than Salazar's, there was a gruffness to his tone that reminded Rowena of the English traders that appeared in the village several times a year. The second was a tongue she had never heard before, and had an almost comical ring to it. Rowena knew who both voices belonged to, of course, but, just as it had been with Salazar, it was most strange to hear someone in person, when she had only read their handwriting prior. The two voices seemed to be having somewhat of a disagreement on why exactly they had landed waist-deep in the freezing cold bog.

The purple smoke was slowly beginning to dissipate, and Rowena and Salazar were now able to make out two figures in the oddly coloured mist; one a whole head and shoulders above the other, with large, broad shoulders and large stature, he appeared to be wearing something of a suit of armour, and was brandishing a large sword. The second was a soft, plump woman, short in height and, as the smoke all but cleared entirely, Rowena could see the other woman's hair was a soft, honey colour and despite the fact she was standing submerged to her chest in freezing bog water, was wearing a kind smile that lit her whole face up in a kindness Rowena had rarely seen in her life.

"Ah ha! My friends!" The male of the two spoke, after quickly gazing around his surroundings to locate Rowena and Salazar. His rough English accent boomed into the dusk, as he stepped forward, his arm offered to his companion, allowing both newcomers to join Rowena and Salazar on their mound. "Bit soggy, ho ho!" he exclaimed. "Which one of you can we blame for that?" he added with a laugh every bit as booming as his voice.

"For that, my friend," Salazar began to answer, "you can blame m'lady here."

"Ah, well since it was you, Rowena, I shall grant you forgiveness," he replied, patting

Salazar on the back in the way one might greet an old friend, before he took Rowena's hand in his own, placing a gentle, chivalrous kiss upon its back.

"Godric, it is marvellous to see you in the flesh," Rowena spoke, before drawing the

woman into a hug, in spite of her sodden clothes. "Oh, Helga, we're finally meeting, at long last!"

"I am so thrilled, Rowena, my friend, so thrilled," Helga answered, grasping Rowena's hands in both of her own before dropping them, and hurrying over to where Salazar was standing, looking somewhat uncomfortable as Godric's arm was still situated around his shoulders as the armour-clad man spoke animatedly about some troll he had slain right before he got to his and Helga's meeting point.

Helga, grasped Salazar's hands in the same way she had taken Rowena's, her plump frame barely reaching his shoulders as she greeted him. "It is so good to finally meet you, Salazar."

"And you, Helga," Salazar met her smile, before planting a chaste kiss on the back of each of Helga's hands.

"You both must be freezing, we're staying not too far, only a few minutes walk out of the bog," Rowena offered, gesturing to the north and the something of a skinny path she and Salazar had taken - which was something of a bridge that separated the mound with the nearby forest.

Rowena and Salazar had decided that since her keeping him mostly in her bedchamber was risky enough for her, three people in total would be a lot harder for Rowena to hide, and therefore they decided to charm an old rag into a tent for the foursome. It ended up looking like very little from the outside, but between them, Salazar and Rowena had taken the small, ancient looking fabric and charmed several rooms inside, a fire pit, a fully functioning kitchen and several comfy chairs for the four of them to stay in whilst they got everything organised for the erecting of their school.

"Well, this is simply charming," Helga offered upon entering the tent. Once washed, dried and in warm clothing once more, she found her way over to the kitchen and began to run her hands above the small amount of meat, fish, and produce that the two had managed to bring with them to the makeshift homestead. Before long the tent was filled with a relaxing and mouth watering aroma of delicious food, and Helga received a multitude of praise from the other three.

"So, we've decided up here in Scotland as the location?" Godric asked, directing his words to both Rowena and Salazar as the four friends lazed in the seating compartment of the tent after enjoying the multi course cooked meal that Helga had prepared earlier, which had taken so much out of the little woman, that she had promptly fallen asleep once full.

"Yes, it will be easier up here to figure out a place that can offer the isolation we need, and Rowena believes she knows of an ideal site," Salazar answered, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the inside of Rowena's elbow.

"It is perfect," Rowena said, explaining a little of the place to Godric, about the loch and the forest and the empty castle it sported. "...and it shall be called Hogwarts," she ended, her eyes instantly narrowing as though daring Godric to argue the subject. On the contrary, he seemed to be besotted with the idea almost instantaneously, as his loud, jolly laugh echoed around them once more.

"You know, there is one thing I would like us to have, a motto, all the great families have one, and I believe the clans up here in Scotland do also?"

"Yes, they do," Rowena answered, pondering her friend's words. "It is an interesting idea, I like it, what did you have in mind?"

At that moment, Helga began to laugh, though still entirely unconscious. She then began to speak, mumbling incoherently at first, until, out of nowhere and still sleeping soundly, she blurted out to the amusement and shock of the other three, "...never tickle a sleeping dragon."

"Well," exclaimed Godric, between bouts of laughter, I do not think I could ever come up with anything quite so thought provoking as that, so I propose we put our goblets together and toast, to Hogwarts-,"

"-School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Salazar interjected, raising his own goblet as he did, as he received a grateful nod from Godric.

"And may you never tickle a sleeping dragon!" Godric finished, clanking his drink against Rowena's and Salazar's in turn, before all three drank deeply, full of hope and dreams of the future, and Hogwarts.

 **oOoOoOo**

 _One year later…_

The past twelve months had consisted of a _mostly_ pleasing mix of intensive planning and the cementing of friendship, with a few disagreements thrown in for good measure. The castle itself was grand and imposing, but with the numerous finishing touches, mostly from Helga, the building already felt like home to the four.

They had decided that when students started arriving the following month, they would be sorted into one of four distinct houses, each named after one of the four. Although they had yet to come up with a fair method to accomplish this. That is, until Godric had appeared in the hall one day with what he stated, "the answer to the sorting problem". The _answer_ in question, to Rowena, and from the sideways looks Salazar and Helga shot her, they also were perplexed as to how a hat could possibly be the answer to anything, except perhaps, _what hat should one wear to accentuate one's dress robes?_

"Used my _wand,_ what a great thing," Godric went on, feeling the need, yet again, to praise the instrument he had acquired from the Ollivanders "Put everything I want in _my_ students, into it, now you three can do this also."

"What you want _in_ your students, whatever do you mean?" Helga enquired, a look of concern crossing her soft features.

"Well, there are certain _attributes_ that will be valued by the Great House of Godric Gryffindor,"

"It will be called Gryffindor House," Salazar spoke, his tone verging on exasperated. It had been the cause of many a heated debate between the two males, and more often that not, Rowena also. Helga generally opted to stay away from the disagreements, usually leaving the three to bicker uninterrupted.

"Yes, yes. _Gryffindor House,"_ Godric replied, a snap appearing in his own voice as he glared daggers at Salazar, "will not, for instance, be taking anyone who would be unwilling to enter the Dark Forest alone, armed with naught but his gumption!"

"Well, that's just preposterous, these are _children_ Godric, you are-," Helga spluttered.

"His gumption matters not, when he could just run along back to his parents and have the lot of us tried for witchcraft. I have said this before and I shall continue doing so until you all agree, we must stick to the noble, _known magical_ families," a frowning Salazar spoke up.

"We will be accepting _anyone_ who has shown powers and is willing to learn!" Godric retorted, his voice was raised, but remained even.

"Yes, Godric is right," Helga interjected in an unusual stance of disagreement, "but we will _not_ be ostracising the children on such nonsense attributes. You cannot judge a person's bravery at eleven years old!" she ended, turning on the one the start of her tirade had been in agreement with.

"Well, I mean, I must say," Rowena began, determined to make her point as determinedly as Godric, but with rather a lot more diplomacy. "I would definitely prefer if mine were to house those students with the highest levels of intellect and creativity, those with a sound, logical mind, those with wit," she finished with a pointed look at each of her companions in turn.

"A sound logical mind" Godric began, relaying Rowena's words back to her, a look on his face showing much disdain, "and _wit?_ What use is logic or wit when-"

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," Rowena snapped at Godric, narrowing her eyes at the man.

Salazar smirked in spite of himself at the woman he loved. He knew exactly what Rowena really meant with the phrase, the word _wit_ was a common nickname where he hailed, but it had little to do with logic or intellect. Although _greatest treasure_ was an apt descriptor, he supposed. Rowena turned to meet Salazar's eyes, knowing full well what his primary answer was, _only those from known magical bloodlines_ ; it was an argument she had heard so many times she was certain she would match him word for word should she so desire, and one she had no interest in having again now, so she decided this time to engage him using a different tactic.

"Salazar, my love, what sort of _attributes-"_ she began, emphasising the word, "would you value in your students?"

"Well, they will need to show determination. I think a certain amount of cunning was always helpful for one to get by. I respect those who show resourcefulness," he answered, his face thoughtful.

Helga took a deep, even breath and conducted herself so she could see each of her friends at once. "And what if, at _eleven years old_ they do not quite show the bravery of an ox-"

"I prefer lion, the lion is an animal of absolute grandeur."

Helga narrowed her eyes at Godric. "Fine, the courage of a lion."

"Much better!" Godric responded, this time earning him a most uncharacteristic, actual glare from Helga.

"Hush, Godric! Or, the intellect of a...a…"

"I've always admired the eagle, most intelligent creature," Rowena interjected.

"...an eagle, then. Or the resourcefulness and cunning of..." this time Helga did not attempt to think of the relevant creature herself, instead simply gazing at Salazar, who replied without hesitation.

"A snake."

"Of course," Helga snapped, her arms now flailing in annoyance, much to the amusement of the other three. "a snake, so what happens? What if these children are not particularly brave, intelligent, or cunning? When their greatest attributes are kindness, or dedication, or patience, what then?"

"Well, one would assume, they would be in your House," Godric answered the question Rowena was sure Helga had actually not wished for an answer to.

"Yes, yes they will! I shall take all the rest. And shame on all of you for not having the same attitude!" The small woman ended haughtily into a pregnant silence.

"Well, that is very _kind_ of you, Helga," Rowena said after a while, unable to bear the awkward quiet that had befallen the four friends. "What creature do you feel you would like to represent the House of Hufflepuff?"

Helga was taking deep breaths, and the reddening of her cheeks told Rowena that Helga was probably feeling a sense of embarrassment over her outburst.

"A badger."

"A badger?" Salazar queried, clearly trying hard to keep his impending laugh from erupting out.

"Yes, a badger, and if anyone has a problem with my badger they can come find me in the kitchens. Good day!" Helga ended, her voice wavering, yet still determined.

"Perhaps, we'll charm the hat another day," Godric offered, and Rowena realised he was still holding the accessory in his right hand.

 **oOoOoOo**

While Godric and Helga had accepted Rowena and Salazar's relationship without too many questions and only a small amount of expressed surprise, all four knew that this was solely due to the bonds the four had formed, even before meeting as the rest of Britain had several words for any women who would dare bed a man before marriage.

All four were brilliant, but for the most part outsiders. Whilst there were others of course, Salazar being the most well-informed of the magical families in Britain, none of the four themselves had anything in the way of many magical acquaintances, let alone friends, and so it was inevitable that they had clung to each other, in a force of solidarity, becoming more than just friends, they became family.

But, of course, every family has its darkness and as much as it pained Rowena to even think it, Salazar was, more often than not, the reason for their darkness.

Rowena was angered greatly by the witch hunts that took place daily in Britain, and the barbaric practises the hunters and _examiners_ put those on trial through, but she was sure the answer lay in education, and safety, for those accused. Salazar on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with anyone who couldn't prove they had at least two generations of magical blood running through their veins. He knew, or said he knew, that a large proportion of those accused were not actually witches at all, but regular citizens, and therefore it was a danger to themselves, and every student they would eventually enroll, to accept _anyone_ who only _may_ have powers.

"But, if we can make it conclusive? If we can find a way to prove they are magical by blood, born to regular parents or not, _then_ we owe it to them to teach them." Rowena had attempted to reason, time and time again.

"We don't owe anyone anything, and certainly not those who bide with those who would cut our throats for doing what we were born to do!"

Yet again, Rowena sighed and wept, for how could she continue to love a man with such views? When all she wished was to take in every girl, or boy, who presented powers, to protect and mould them, ready to face the harsh world, and Salazar refused entirely to see the wood of potential, for the trees of his own, unmovable beliefs?

She had bedded him so quickly, and loved him so deeply that everything else had been cast aside, leaving her with the most painful of truths now - the unsurety that he was, at all, right for her.

This predicament was made a whole lot more complicated when, after a particularly nasty fight with Godric, that led Salazar to apparently disappear for hours, only to a finally appear again, seemingly from somewhere in the dungeons, though none of the others had managed to locate even a hint of the man, with a question for Rowena. A question she was entirely unprepared for, and considering her recent wonderings about how to break their relationship off, was definitely not thrilled by.

"Marry you?"

"You, Rowena, are my heart and soul, my only reason for staying with those two fools!"

"You do not mean that, they are your friends, Salazar."

"You have not answered my question."

Rowena had always prided herself on her ability to stand true to what she believed in any given circumstance, and so it was entirely un-Rowena like, when she looked into the eyes of her lover, wondering how to let him down gently, and somehow uttered a hushed, "Yes, of course."

 **oOoOoOo**

 _One year later..._

"You are certain?" Rowena asked, a pleading look on her pale face as she looked into the honey coloured eyes of her closest friend.

"It is a simple charm, I invented it myself, it...cannot really be wrong, I am certain, Rowena," Helga answered, her face full of sympathy. "How do you think he will take the news?"

"He's out of control, Helga, always in those forsaken dungeons, he rarely sleeps in our bed anymore, and when he does he comes in late and gets to sleep even later. He's always muttering, even when he does sleep, he mutters then also! He trusts no one, I do not even believe he fully trusts me, not unless I ever agree with him on the blood status situation," Rowena said, her voice full of sorrow. "We aren't even wed yet, if this gets out, even in the small magical community, it will be a scandal."

"Yes," Helga said, clearly knowing her friend needed honesty, "but I do not see you wishing to wed him at present."

"No," Rowena replied sadly, her right hand instinctively pressed on her still flat stomach. "I do not wish to marry him, not now."

Helga offered no more words, but smiled kindly at Rowena, patting her friend's arm.

 **oOoOoOo**

 _Seven months later…_

Rowena gazed out of a nearby window, relishing in the beauty of the grounds of Hogwarts School. Helga had done a fabulous job of planting a variety of flower beds, trees and shrubs, and now in the late spring, the grounds were looking wonderful.

Her hand was situated, as it often was, on her protruding stomach. A wave of emotion overcame her as she felt a small nudge against her palm, from a limb somewhere within.

The quill and parchment she had been using not moments before, sat atop the large mahogany desk. Rowena's face was set as she allowed a small amount of the sadness she felt in her heart to come forth in the form of several, fat teardrops which splattered against the top of the bump in her stomach.

It had been four months since Salazar had left without trace, and three months since one Alarick Jones, a Wizard and friend and associate of Salazar had heralded from London. The man brought with him the news that Rowena had expected, and dreaded; all throughout the scarcely established Wizarding Britain that one of the greatest Witches alive, Rowena Ravenclaw, had not only bedded a man out of wedlock, but now bears his child, and worse, refuses to wed the heartbroken, poor, lovestruck Salazar Slytherin.

Rowena rose from her position and walked over to a large birdcage over to the west side of her office, where a large crow was sitting, watching her with sparkly black eyes.

"Just find him," Rowena instructed the bird, attaching the parchment to its leg with a leather thong.

She held little hope. Every time she had attempted to send any sort of correspondence, the bird would return several weeks later, the parchment still attached and always looked, to Rowena, as though it had a dazed look upon its face.

A sharp rap on the door brought Rowena's attention. After setting the bird on the windowsill, for it to immediately take flight, she walked to the door and answered, relieved to see Godric standing in the doorway.

She smiled gladly. "Come in." She waved towards her desk, gesturing to the chair on the other side, which Godric took.

"How are you, Rowena?"

"I wouldn't even attempt to tell a lie, you can usually spot them from a mile away," Rowena answered, chuckling briefly. "I...do not even know. I am with child, alone, and hated. It is not a promising combination."

"I cannot promise you that Salazar will return, none of us can promise that, as much as for your sake, I wish I could. But I can promise that you, and your child, are _not_ alone, and you are not hated here. You are a part of this place, Rowena, and you always will be and wherever you may end up, if that is not here, Hogwarts will always be here to welcome you home," Godric spoke slowly, and with nothing but truth in his eyes. "It is, rough, right now. You do not need me to lie to you, but this is a blip, and I can guarantee, this is not what the great Rowena Ravenclaw will be remembered for."

"My heart, it is broken, Godric." Rowena had not meant to say it, but the words had tumbled out, as though entirely of their own volition.

Godric did not speak straight away, instead rose to standing and walked the few steps around Rowena's desk until he was level with her. She stood at his approach, and allowed herself to be pulled into his arms, a slight feeling of guilt creeping into her mind as she soaked the front of his tunic in tears; knowing, somehow that her latest attempt to contact him had been another fruitless endeavor, and in that moment, Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the greatest witches alive, knew she would never see Salazar Slytherin in this life again.

 **oOoOoOo**

 _Twenty-One years later…_

Salazar Slytherin sat in front of a large desk, an arch shaped window on his right and a large bookcase to his left. He was finishing up an order form to a nearby potion supplier when he felt the pain, somewhere on the left side of his chest. Standing up at some point in a blind panic, Salazar stumbled to the window, which looked onto the modest grounds below, but Salazar did not see the grounds, or even the window. He saw, somehow _through_ the pain in his heart, _her,_ and just as his own pain left him, he felt the pain in her heart leave her also. In the moment he knew her soul had left his, entirely this time, forever.

* * *

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	12. Liberosis

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: Liberosis**

 **Rating: T**

 **Genre: Angst**

 **Triggers: Depression**

 **Warnings: Language**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **Liberosis**

* * *

Signing his name across the final parchment, Draco handed the stack to his assistant before leaning back in his ornately carved high back chair, raking his meticulously manicured fingers down his pale face. He let out a heavy sigh before pushing his chair back, grimacing at the noise of the legs dragging across the hardwood floor of his study. He glanced at the clock as his fingers curled around the doorknob; it was a quarter past six in the evening.

Taking the Grand Stairs two at a time, he jogged up to the West Wing of Malfoy Manor, striding through the maze of hallways until he reached his suite of apartments. As a child he had only occupied two rooms; a bedroom and a nursery. Now he was a married man, he occupied no less than ten rooms including a private study and sitting room.

Pushing open the door, he crossed the threshold into the suite, searching for his wife. Scowling at the open French windows, he made his way over to them, pushing back the billowing voile panels as he prepared himself mentally for what was sure to be a frustrating exchange. Anxiety crept up his spine, his ever stoic mask shielding the concern he felt for her. Despite the chill of the Autumn wind, Pansy was sat on the balcony in nothing more than a large jumper she had thrown over her head, a cigarette between her delicate fingers, her hair tied up in a messy bun on top of her head.

Her eyes drifted to her right, aware of his presence beside her, lacking emotion and failing to meet his own. Draco watched the glow of her cigarette intensify as she took a drag before flicking the ash into a crystal ashtray that sat perched on her lap.

"I have asked you not to smoke" he told her, his tone controlled as he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. He hated it when she smoked, knowing she chose to smoke over eating.

"And?" she replied, her voice quiet and lacking emotion. She knew he didn't like it but it helped calm her anxiety and she felt unable to bring herself to care about his reasons for disliking it. Vaguely she was aware of the fact that she felt unable to bring herself to care much about anything of late.

Draco's scowl deepened, the muscles in his forehead tightening as a migraine threatened.

"This cannot go on. Have you made an appointment with the healer yet?"

Silence.

"Of course not. We have guests tonight. Do you think you could come downstairs and entertain them?" he asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, watching as she exhaled the smoke through her nose without answering.

Carding his hands through his hair, he crossed back into the bedroom, pausing to look at the photographs on the dresser, his eyes immediately focusing on the central photograph of Pansy in the rose garden. It was a simple photograph, and one that he had taken in the first year of their marriage. A soft smile ghosted his lips as he looked at the image of her twirling. He didn't know why but of all the pictures of her, this was his favorite. His eyes drifted over to the French windows and he wondered not for the first time what it would take to bring her back from the abyss, of which her mind was clearly on the precipice.

 **oOoOoOo**

Daphne crossed the room, elegant gown flowing, lips pouting as she air kissed Draco in greeting.

"Darling, how is she?" Daphne asked quietly, turning to scan the faces of the guests, careful to ensure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. Beside her, Draco's grip on his tumbler increased as he raised his glass to his lips, relishing the burn of the firewhiskey as the amber liquid hit the back of his throat.

"That bad?" Daphne continued, her sidelong gaze darting to Draco, concern marring her features.

Silence.

He was sick of this and hated himself for acknowledging that fact. He loved his wife but he hated seeing her declining mental state. In the beginning he had tried to talk to her; to coax her out of her melancholy. He tried bringing her roses from the garden, knowing how much she loved them, but they seemed to wilt right alongside her and so he had stopped. Pansy was unable to verbalise how she was feeling or why and this left Draco feeling helpless. He hated walking into his suite and finding her lying in bed staring at nothing, her empty eyes void of all emotion, or sitting on the balcony smoking, her demeanor brooding.

People looked up at them as a power-couple; a political alliance of the Malfoy and Parkinson families. In the beginning that was his main motivation. With his mother dead and his father locked away in Azkaban, he was at least expected to uphold something of the pureblood traditions. As such he had made the match for the sake of appearances, but it helped that he and Pansy had been best friends for years and held affection for one another. Over time he had grown to love her and it pained him to witness the self destruction wrought by her fragile and fractured psyche; a self destruction that left him feeling powerless.

Pureblood society wasn't what it had been prior to the war; the prejudices were still there but it was considered a faux pas to vocalise them. Thus pureblood society had clung on to its rituals that acted as buoys in a sea of disquiet in the wider wizarding society. Draco was trying to rebuild his reputation and raise the Malfoy name above where currently it sat. As part of this he had donated to many important causes, and contributed to the rebuilding of the Ministry and Hogwarts. All pureblood society required of Pansy was to provide Draco with an heir and act the dutiful wife when it came to key social events. It was noticeable that she was conspicuously absent from all ribbon cutting events and this did not help his efforts one iota. An absent wife meant an unhappy wife and a wife that was likely having an affair. This amounted to a scandal amongst pureblood families who spent their time smiling to Draco's face and gossiping about him behind his back, tarnishing both their reputations.

"Has she called the healer yet?" Daphne pressed, taking a glass of champagne from a charmed tray as it floated past them.

"No," Draco replied stiffly, draining his glass before striding off towards the bar.

"Well that went well."

Daphne turned at the sound of Theo's drawling voice which startled her as he stepped out from the shadows, pressing her open palm to her chest theatrically.

"Merlin, Theo! Will you stop skulking in dark corners."

"How much longer do you think he will put up with her before he files for divorce?" Theo asked, ignoring his wife's dramatics.

"Don't be absurd," Daphne retorted, turning up her nose slightly.

"Blaise and I have a wager on it. I don't think he will last another six months."

"He loves Pansy."

Theo snorted.

"A divorce would be scandalous."

"There you are," Theo chuckled, placing a finger on his nose and pointing at her as she frowned. "What on earth are you doing?" she hissed, smacking his finger down.

"Pointing out how right you are about scandal. Do you think he could survive the hit?"

"Must you two gossip about me every time my back is turned?" Draco muttered, returning from the bar, double firewhiskey in hand.

Daphne flushed slightly before opening her clutch and pressing an embossed business card into Draco's free hand.

"Call my therapist. He is discreet," Daphne whispered, holding his gaze until he nodded.

 **oOoOoOo**

Draco paced inside his private study, his polished shoes visibly wearing one section of the plush cream carpet thin. At the sound of the door that adjoined his bedroom clicking softly open, he turned to face the Healer.

"Well?" he asked, his eyebrow quirked as he watched the Healer gesture to the wingback chair.

"May I?"

Draco nodded his consent, the middle aged man settling into the chair before opening his notes. He looked up from his position in the chair momentarily, and seeing that Draco was choosing to remain standing he cleared his throat.

"Your wife is suffering from a form of melancholy."

"So depression then," Draco clarified, rolling his eyes. He could have told the Healer that. Was it really worth his exorbitant fee to obtain a diagnosis of that which he already knew?

"Not exactly. Melancholia is a marker for Major Depressive Disorder, but your wife doesn't currently meet the full diagnostic criteria," the Healer explained.

Draco perched on his desk, his eyes fixing on the Healer. "So what are you saying?"

"Your wife needs treatment before it progresses to MDD. Her most marked symptom is Liberosis."

"Which is?" Draco drawled, his patience starting to wear as thin as the carpet.

"Liberosis is one of the obscure sorrows. It is defined as the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life."

Draco furrowed his brow in thought. "And that's a sorrow is it? Surely everyone wants to feel that way about life?"

"With all emotions Mr. Malfoy, there is a level that is healthy and a level that is unhealthy. Loosening one's grip on life can be liberating...or it can be catastrophic. For your wife, it's potentially catastrophic. She has a marked lack of interest in participating in adult life. She has not regressed to a child-like state, but she has, how some Muggles say, decided to 'stop adulting'. Both her clinical presentation and your subjective case history reporting clearly demonstrate this. She shows no interest in day to day life or her role as your partner."

Draco snorted; again he failed to see what he was gaining by being told something he already knew.

"So what now? What do you recommend?" he asked, his tone almost challenging.

Reaching for his briefcase, the Healer pulled out a worn book and started flipping through the pages.

"It really is up to you Mr. Malfoy. There are several options open to you depending on your viewpoint." The Healer looked up from the book pointedly, having chosen his words carefully.

"Go on," Draco instructed, his eyes narrow as he nervously tapped a finger against his leg.

The Healer let out a small sigh. "As I am sure you are aware, there has been an increase in reporting of psychological disorders since the War. This in turn has lead to more research and more treatments. But we have to admit that our potions are not as advanced as some Muggle treatments and therapies," he explained, his eyes remaining fixed on Draco's, refusing to be intimidated by his stare. "If you wish to only use potions, your wife's recovery may not be, shall we say, as satisfactory as you might hope. If however, you are willing to try Muggle therapies, then we could restore your wife's psychological state more effectively."

Draco nodded slowly. "So when you say therapies, I presume you mean plural?" he drawled.

"If you are worried about the cost…"

Draco lifted his hand, cutting the Healer off with a smirk. "Money is clearly no issue here. What I am concerned about, first and foremost, is my wife. What kind of interventions are you suggesting for her?"

"A combination of selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors such as citalopram and atypical antipsychotics such as abilify, and meeting twice a week with a therapist with whom my practice works. She is a squib and has a practice in Muggle London, not far from the Leaky Cauldron."

Signalling his approval with a curt nod, Draco waited patiently for the Healer to write the prescription and fish out the business card of his colleague, before walking him to the floo.

 **oOoOoOo**

 _MALFOY MARRIAGE ON ROCKS._

 _IS DIVORCE THE NEXT STEP?_

 _COUPLE SEEN AT MARRIAGE COUNSELLOR IN MUGGLE LONDON._

 _Full story on page two by Lavender Brown._

Draco growled as he resisted the urge to throw the morning edition of ' _The Prophet_ ' into the fire, instead stalking to the floo, the green flames swallowing him before spitting him out like chewed up meat into Theo Nott's office.

"Have you seen this?" he yelled, throwing the newspaper onto Theo's desk.

"No, and hello to you too," Theo drawled sarcastically as he leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing out across his features.

"Read it," Draco ground out, baring his teeth.

Theo grabbed the newspaper, opening it out. "Front page again?" He chuckled, finding a humour in this which Draco failed to grasp. Eyes scanning the article, he tutted.

"Typical ill-informed fodder for the masses. Are you honestly surprised?" he replied nonchalantly as he tossed the paper back to Draco.

"Meanwhile my reputation is in the proverbial water closet, and my share prices dropped fifteen percent after this story broke," Draco complained, dropping heavily into the chair across from Theo.

"So what do you expect me to do, exactly?"

Draco glared at Theo. "What I fucking pay you for, to start with. You are my solicitor and my public relations manager. You are supposed to handle any hint of scandal, not watch it splash across the front pages of ' _The Prophet'_ ," he yelled, his patience snapping as his temper reached critical mass. "Your wife said this Healer was discreet."

"And he is, but that is you and Pansy I see walking into an office of a marriage counsellor," Theo retorted, watching amusedly as Draco dropped his head into his hands tugging at his blond locks.

"We weren't at the counsellor's office; her office was next door."

"Next door?" Theo repeated casually.

"Next door to the psychotherapist," came Draco's muffled reply as he groaned into his hands. "This is a fucking nightmare. What do I fucking do, Theo? Whichever way I turn I am basically fucked. Either I continue to endure the scandal of having my wife in seclusion, or I suffer the scandal of divorcing my wife, or I have to deal with the scandal of my marriage being dragged through the mire simply to avoid the scandal of watching the press destroy Pansy for suffering from depression."

Theo chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "Do you know why Daphne had his card?"

Draco shook his head.

"He treated her mother," Theo replied, matter of factly.

Draco's head shot up so quick Theo was sure he would have whiplash.

"I didn't even know her mother was ill."

"Breakdown," Theo stated with a dismissive wave. "Anyway, he mentioned that since the War there has been an increase in the reporting of psychological disorders and our treatment methods are somewhat archaic."

Draco nodded, "He mentioned the same thing to me."

"Maybe you should get your chequebook out," Theo winked.

 **oOoOoOo**

MALFOYS OPEN NEW WING IN ST MUNGO'S -

FUND CREATED FOR RESEARCH INTO PSYCHOLOGICAL DISORDERS

Full story page four by Lavender Brown

"How is her treatment going?" Daphne asked casually as she poured the tea into the delicate china cup in front of Draco.

"Well. She was able to attend the gala we hosted for St Mungo's," he replied, his fingers curling around the cup that he brought to his lips, sipping the tea.

"You really should thank my husband for his triumph of turning that scandal to your advantage," she grinned. "Next time, be a bit more discreet and ensure you are not followed," she instructed with a wry smile.

"Is a box at the Quidditch World Cup not thanks enough for Theo?" Draco replied, his features taut as he checked his temper.

"You know I hate Quidditch," Daphne pouted dramatically.

Draco rolled his eyes. "So take Pansy shopping instead. She should be up to travelling by then."

 **oOoOoOo**

His heart pounded in his chest as he searched the apartment for his wife, anxiety twisting like a knife in his chest. Stepping out onto the balcony, he found her chair empty and was just about to retreat inside when he caught a glimpse of her out in the rose garden. Rushing down the stairs, he crossed the solarium and threw open the patio doors, his heavy strides pounding the gravel as he caught up to her.

Hand outstretched, Pansy brushed her fingers across the black roses, relishing in the velvety texture underneath her fingertips. Hearing the crunch of the stones, she turned to see Draco ashen faced as he drank her in.

"What's wrong, my love?" She smiled at him, her face lighting up for the first time in Merlin knew how long, instantly reminding him of the photograph on the dresser.

"I...it's just… been so long since you came outside. I was worried," he replied as his heartbeat slowed to a normal rate.

Pansy hummed her reply, turning her attention back to the roses, watching as loose petals broke off, falling to her feet. Bending down to retrieve one, her smile increasing, she reached for Draco's hand, opening it to place the petal in his palm.

His free hand brushed her pale cheek, before his fingers found their way into her hair. Pansy closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

"Thank you," she whispered, as he leaned down to kiss her.

Pausing, he frowned. "What for?"

"I was like this fragile petal, that you hold now so gently in your hand. Thank you for not crushing me."

"I love you too much to do that, Pansy," he told her sincerely, his confession falling from his lips like a litany before he could stop it. He brought his lips to hers, kissing her soundly, uncertainty clenching his heart as his mind reeled, awaiting the rejection that he was sure would follow.

The rejection never came. "I love you, too," she whispered when they broke apart laying her head on his chest.

His heart swelling from her proclamation, Draco wrapped his arms around her, certain that no matter what lay ahead, he would endure whatever it took to be with her, scandal be damned.

* * *

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	13. Naming Her Secrets

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: Naming Her Secrets**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Suspense**

 **Triggers: Brief Drug Use**

 **Warnings: Language, Sexual Content**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **Naming Her Secrets**

* * *

It had arrived in the morning.

Each time it came, it looked precisely the same: a grey parchment, rolled tight, tied with a black satin ribbon and fixed with a nameless ebony wax seal. It appeared every four weeks. The script within had always been fashioned in the identical hand; after the first one, it listed nothing save _day_ and _time_. That was all.

Hermione never knew who sent the initial one. Or even who continued to send them, month after month, after the end of the war.

And for once in her life, _knowing_ never mattered.

She had been required to pay a fee in order to continue to receive the silk-ribboned invitations; she surrendered her galleons and never mentioned it to anyone.

In fact, by an unspoken agreement, none of the attendees ever discussed the parchments—or the meetings—outside the place where they gathered. Once or twice, she'd witnessed a flush of an acquaintance's skin or noticed gleam in a stranger's eye when they saw her in Diagon Alley. So be it. So far, it hadn't disturbed her enough to keep her from coming. This was the one night, the only night, she could be assured that she wouldn't hear Bellatrix's laughter in her nightmares.

And beyond the fee, there was nothing required of her except one small thing.

Hermione turned the parchment over, broke its seal, and let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. Tomorrow night. 11:10 pm. _Thank Merlin._

 **oOoOoOo**

Hermione strode over the cobblestone of a seedier section of Diagon Alley and opened the street-level door, revealing a dark, wooden stairwell. Once inside, she pulled back her hood and made her way up three flights of stairs, the risers creaking in protest under her footfall. She opened the door on the third floor without knocking as was the custom: no one would answer anyway, no one would be waiting.

The door pushed open, revealing a tiny sitting room. It was poorly lit, but well appointed, and she stepped inside. She had been allotted just enough time to do what must be done, and move into the next chamber.

Positioned on the far wall was a mahogany table where an uncovered cauldron sat waiting for what only she could provide. Hermione approached and added the final ingredient to the brew, waving her wand in the precise method needed to complete the potion. When the contents settled, she apportioned the contents equally into the three identical ornate glass bottles and stoppered them tightly.

This was the first time that she looked carefully at the glass containers, picking one up to memorize its shape and the details of the design etched into the crystal. For her scheme to work, she needed to be able to recognize these bottles among a tray crowded with similar ones. And she would need to identify it quickly.

Hermione stared at it as she turned it over in her hand. After a moment—and satisfied she would be able to pick it out of a field of thirty or more—she walked through the door into the large hallway beyond.

 **oOoOoOo**

The long dark corridor she entered had doors only on one side, some were open, others, already closed. The members called the warren of rooms beyond _alcoves_.

Hermione chose an empty alcove and clicked the door shut behind her; this space would be hers for the evening. She looked around—she'd been in this particular room before. There was an overstuffed chair, a side table, a bed, and an exuberant fire dancing in the hearth. Two sets of black clothing hung on hooks inside the closet—one male and one female, identical to those hanging in the other rooms. An adjacent, private bathroom. A closed door opposite her that opened into the main room beyond.

She glanced towards the full length mirror and removed her jewelry, setting the pieces inside a drawer in the side table.

Even though Hermione knew a knock would come relatively soon, she settled into the comfortable chair and removed her trainers. It would take some time for the last of the guests to arrive and secure themselves in their rooms, and she wanted to steal a few minutes of rest while she could.

She closed her eyes, ignoring the mirrors that covered the ceiling.

 **oOoOoOo**

Some forty-five minutes later, a single knock sounded on her door, jolting her out of her quasi slumber. A wizard—no doubt disguised with a glamour and spelled with a notice-me-not—made his way inside the room. He set two trays down on the table next to her and said the only words she'd ever heard him say.

"Male, female, or no preference?"

"Female."

With a sharp nod of his head, he indicated the tray on his left.

Hermione glanced at the nearly full tray and located one of the bottles she had filled in the first room. _Thank Merlin, mine's still here._ She picked it up.

The nameless, faceless wizard offered Hermione a second glass filled with an orange liquid.

"Thank you," she said, reaching for the glass and placing it on the side table next to the crystal bottle. The drink was not only something to wash away the taste of the potion; the liquid was spiked with a touch of a Muggle street drug. It was just enough to encourage her to relax and to make her more accepting of the night's potential...adventures.

Hermione had only allowed herself the sweet orange drink a few times before, considering how it clouded her judgement and made her feel more...amorous than usual. Tonight, considering the plan, she would drink it as soon as she was alone. She hoped it would also help trick her mind into believing the man she would seek out was truly the man she was seeing with her eyes.

The wizard left without a word—closing the door behind him with a soft click—leaving her alone with her potion and her decision.

A decision she hoped like hell she would not regret.

 **oOoOoOo**

When they began, the meetings hadn't meant three hours of sordid, anonymous sex. There'd been more conversation at the first few gatherings: flirting and sizing up each other, or, at most, heavy snogging in a dim corner of the main room. Mostly, it'd been wizards and witches getting used to being in temporary skins.

Hermione had not noticed anyone wearing her body on that initial night; she assumed whomever had taken her potion had not left their alcove. She still shuddered to think of someone—maybe Ron—alone with a facsimile of her body in front of a full length mirror for three hours.

But after more than a year of monthly gatherings, attendees had grown much more comfortable becoming someone else—and seeing someone else become _them_. It was commonplace now for couples to pair off quickly and disappear into the labyrinth of rooms. Others left in packs of threes or fours, off to a private alcove until they ran out of Polyjuice.

Hermione turned the glass of orange liquid in her hand and thought back. That first time…Merlin, what had convinced her to come that first time? Loneliness? Maybe. Curiosity? Likely.

She'd been shocked when they explained the rules. She'd wandered home that night and laughed it off, equal parts amused and sickened. But the idea of it had plagued her, and by the time the second invitation had arrived, she had decided she would try it just once.

What it would be like to kiss Harry? Or be the object of Ginny's or Luna's affection? Or finally shag Ron without the repercussions of a relationship, without having to deal with his sweaty hands on her backside as they strolled Diagon Alley on a Saturday afternoon?

And maybe, she had thought, _just maybe,_ she could gain a little experience—sexual experience—without allowing the insecurities that had been Ron's parting gift in real life to swallow her whole.

So she returned.

She returned to the delicious, reckless outlet to explore a side of herself she never had before, aided by foul tasting potion and, on some nights, a dose of courage disguised as a Muggle drug.

She could play, hidden behind a mask of flesh. She could clothe herself in someone else's skin and for a short time, she could _be with_ anyone she damn well chose.

Once, she had chosen to be with Harry.

That night, she'd been a tall brunette with thick, straight hair and whomever was camouflaged as Harry had propositioned _her. Well, why the hell not,_ she'd thought when she slipped her hand in the crook of her best friend's arm. Back in the alcove, she'd tried to persuade herself that Harry was indeed the bloke crudely feeling her up and assaulting her with clumsy kisses. She'd failed. It felt as though Ron had taken up residence behind Harry's flesh, and it revolted her.

Even though the episode had been far from perfect, it had convinced the tiny voice inside her that _no_ , there was no part of her that wanted to be with Harry in that way. She vaguely wondered if he had ever done the same, and came to the same conclusion that she had.

Other nights had been more...pleasurable. Three hours of snogging Luna that was nothing short of heavenly. An evening exploring less conventional sexual arts—specifically those involving satin ropes—with someone who reminded her of Viktor. And a very sloppy occasion with two wizards that she'd almost bedded, but the last chime had sounded before they had gotten quite that far. Based entirely on the amount of alcohol she had consumed, however, Hermione doubted she remembered the entire night.

But when _he_ had shown up several months ago, everything had changed. She no longer wanted to play with anyone but him.

Tonight, she would not only be female, she would be _herself_ so she could—if she was lucky—watch her own fingertips caress a man that she couldn't stop thinking about.

Hermione downed the orange drink in one swallow and vanished the potion she didn't want or need this evening. She dressed in the dark, heavy female robes—shrinking them to fit her small frame—and settled into the overstuffed chair to wait for the chimes that signaled it was time for the attendees to take their Polyjuice.

 **oOoOoOo**

When had it started? Had it always been there, this craving she didn't dare articulate, this need to touch, to drown herself in a wizard that barely acknowledged her existence? He had elbowed his way into her fantasies, stationing himself at the core of her desire. How? Why? She had no idea.

It terrified her, this blind need. This _want_.

Should the evening go as planned, would it satisfy her hunger for the man? If she spent time breathing him in, would she be able to get him out of her head? Part of her doubted it. Tonight's activities just might make things decidedly worse.

Whatever happened, Hermione was going to offer herself to him. Her real self, without the aid of Polyjuice.

And she hoped like hell that whomever had clothed themselves in Severus Snape's skin would be interested in bedding Hermione Granger.

 **oOoOoOo**

The chime sounded, alerting the attendees that it was time to take the first dose of their potion. Hermione froze. Who was becoming _him_ right now? _Merlin…don't let it be Ron…anyone but Ron…_

A second tone sounded, signaling the attendees should enter the common room. Hermione bolted out the door of her alcove. At the meetings, the lucky bastard that had become _him_ for the night was rather…popular with witches and wizards that wanted to taste the dark, reclusive, former spy. She was determined to get to him first.

Hermione located Headmaster Snape's lean frame the moment he left his alcove; as she approached, he settled himself into the large overstuffed chair nearest his door and crossed his long legs. As quick as she'd been, another witch had outpaced her and paraded in front of him, preening.

Whomever looked like Severus Snape glanced around the standing witch and met Hermione's eye. She felt herself blush and nodded slightly. He inclined his head nearly imperceptibly in reply, signaling his agreement that they would spend the evening together.

It was done.

The other witch skulked away to find a suitable replacement for the next few hours.

At this, Hermione settled in next to him on the cushion. Thank Merlin Polyjuice not only replicated the body, but the scent of the person as well, because gods, he smelled delicious. And thank Merlin the wizard—or witch—that looked like Severus Snape had not been repulsed by the attention of a bushy-haired know-it-all.

Hermione turned to smile shyly at him. It was odd seeing her former professor so close, dressed in the matching clothing of attendees, and lacking his endless buttons and raven frock coat. He had fixed his teeth since the war. She smiled inwardly: _that_ was something she understood. And his dark hair was washed. She found she wanted to run her fingers through it.

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer.

"Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome."

Words flew from her throat, unbidden. "I always wanted—"

He put a finger to her lips. "Shhhh. Not now."

He rose and offered his hand. She took it and he guided her out of the crowded room, back to his alcove where they could be alone.

 **oOoOoOo**

Severus—she tried to convince her mind to call this Polyjuiced person the name that matched the body—clicked the door shut behind them, dropped her hand, and stood there, still as a stone. Hermione glanced around. The room was dark save for the blush of the firelight touching the furnishings and the moonlight spilling in the window onto the bed. She smiled: they must be in the last room off the long hall, looking over the small passageway that veered off of Diagon Alley.

The closet door was closed. No personal effects—including wand, jewelry, purse, or wallet—were lying about. Whomever Hermione was standing next to was being very careful not to reveal who they really were.

He didn't move.

Hermione could discern his features in the whisper of light, his severe brow and Roman nose, the Cupid's bow of his upper lip, and his eyes, dark and unreadable. She reached for his hand. It was damp with sweat. She threaded her fingers in his, brought his wrist to her mouth, and kissed it tenderly.

He sighed.

Wordlessly, she steered him by the hand towards the bed, and they both sat down, fingers still entwined. A log in the fireplace cracked and spit, shooting sparks onto the brick hearth. Both of them jumped.

He swore then huffed a laugh, presumably at his own reaction. She giggled.

"I'm a bit nervous," he admitted.

"Well, maybe we can try _this_ again," she said, pulling his wrist to her mouth and gently kissing it, as she had done just moments before. He hummed his agreement. Tiny kisses grew into longer sweeps of her tongue until she was lapping, and nibbling, and chewing fiercely.

When she realized she had somehow gotten on his lap and was straddling his hips while attacking his wrist, she stopped abruptly, horrified that she had been so aggressive so quickly.

For a moment, he simply stared at her, as if he could not comprehend what she was doing.

The next thing she knew, Hermione felt his hand at the back of her neck guiding her towards him and tilting her head, driving his lips into hers for a searing kiss. As they fell back on the bed, his tongue became urgent and relentless, perfectly responding to her own need. _Okay. It's not Ron. Thank Merlin, it's not Ron. He…he?...knows how to kiss me until the world spins._

He drew back. His dark eyes swept over her as his fingers grazed her button down shirt, promising her breasts tender caresses. His eyes locked on hers.

He was asking permission, wasn't he?

Hermione rolled onto her back and undid the top button herself. He leaned in and laved the newly revealed expanse of skin with a reverence that surprised her. Like she was a gift undeserved.

With shaking fingers, he tried the next button, but it refused to release.

"Not sure…" he mumbled, "if I can manage…"

She brought her hand up to meet his and undid the button with ease; he responded by chuckling softly and rewarding her exposed skin with a tender kiss.

"Thank you." His breath, hot on her ribs as he attempted the next button, was ruining her panties.

"Anytime," she said, smiling around her response as he freed it and stroked the skin that had been hidden.

"Really?" he drawled as he moved lower.

"Yes."

When he finished with the buttons, he wrenched the fabric aside and splayed his hands across her belly, pressing them into her flesh, as if he wanted to feel every possible expanse of her skin. He moved upward until his fingers cupped her breasts, grazing them with the lightest of touches. Hermione's skin pebbled beneath his attention.

Severus pressed warm lips to one nipple, torturing her other breast with his fingertips. Synchronizing the movements of his mouth and fingers, he began lapping and sucking, eliciting a whimper from her. _Did I just feel teeth?_

She bit her lip and writhed beneath him: nothing, Merlin _nothing_ had ever felt like this. Just when she thought she might go mad, he abandoned his attack, sat back on his heels, and smirked at her. _That smirk. Bastard._

Magic rippled through the room, and Hermione realized he had cast a wordless _Muffliato._

"Was that for you or me?" she quipped, still breathing heavily.

"We'll see," he said, still smirking.

Hermione sat up, shrugged out of her open shirt, and set upon his buttons. When they were free, she pushed the cloth back off his shoulders and for a moment, stared at his lean chest in the firelight. Merlin, he was gorgeous.

She tentatively touched his chest, dragging her fingers down its muscled length, pausing part way to playfully circle his nipples with the tips of her fingers. She leaned forward to take one in her mouth as he had done; he drew a ragged breath and shoved her away.

Before she could react, Severus had flipped her down on the bed so he was hovering above her on all fours, not touching her. His dark hair fell down around his face, and he just gazed at her for a moment; he bent down to meet her lips with his own for a deep, probing kiss.

Hermione unzipped her black trousers and dragged them off over her bum; he helped navigate the fabric down her legs and over her ankles to the floor. At the sight of her panties, he groaned and bent to nip, lick, and press against the scrap of fabric, his breath ruining what was left of her panties and her self-control.

"Professor," she moaned, clenching the sheets in her fists so she wouldn't move too much on the bed.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust.

" _Considering what I believe is about to happen between us, you must call me Severus."_

Her bottom lip pulled downward and her teeth and tongue moved to form the first sound of his given name, when suddenly the obsessive need for him rankled, and her thoughts of _I'm going to shag him until I can't walk and then run away_ felt inappropriate at best. Her own dark lust softened into something much gentler, much sweeter than the gritty fuck she had ached for: she longed for more than that. She wanted his affection. She wanted his love.

It was utter madness. Utter, delicious madness.

As his name flew from her throat, she had one fleeting thought before letting herself disappear into his touch: _Am I falling in love with Severus Snape or the person behind his eyes?_

 **oOoOoOo**

Severus dragged her panties down her thighs.

He descended on her. At first, his tongue slowly and gently grazed her clit, over and over again, until she felt as though the longing for more would consume her. His touch grew stronger, and soon he was probing, demanding, and relentless, and she squirmed under the pleasure of it. He added his fingers until her clit was throbbing; she writhed in delicious agony beneath him, willing herself to focus on the velvet feel of his tongue, instead of trying to suss out the identity of the man on top of her.

Her brain was spinning. How long had she been pinned to the bed, savoring his tongue as it swept over and over her? If he stopped now, how long would it be before her body ceased quivering and crying out for more? And if this was what he could do with his tongue, what would it be like with him inside her?

Carding her fingers through his hair, she reached down and gently drew him away.

"Let me," she whispered, snaking her finger under his trouser placket, pleading with her eyes for him to remove it, while willing her breath and heart to still.

He licked his lips and cocked an eyebrow.

Rolling off her, Severus unfastened his trousers and removed them—along with his underwear—in one swift motion and tossed them to the floor. Hermione plunged under the cool sheets, wrapping both hands firmly around his shaft, and, for a moment, she just stared into the semi-dark. He was hard and warm under her fingers, the slit weeping with desire. How she wanted— _wanted!_ —to wrap her lips around him until he lost all control.

As her lips met his skin, he hissed.

"Careful…" he whispered.

Hermione started by licking the length of him, boldly exploring every inch with her tongue, and lapping up the sticky beads that appeared at the top of his arousal. Finally, she positioned her closed lips at the tip and waited until he regained a modicum of control. She wanted him to last. After a moment, she plummeted down on him, fast, pushing hard with her lips and adding a ring of forefinger and thumb around him to the rhythm of her mouth.

Merlin, he tasted like nothing she'd ever had before.

Severus barked out a strangled cry which sounded like her name and scrambled to get his hands under the sheet to tug on her hair. When she felt his touch, she froze and glanced up at him. He had ducked his head under the linens; he was staring at her, wild-eyed.

"Stop," he managed, panting. "Wait."

Hermione withdrew, disappointed yet pleased. Severus dragged her upward until her head was laying on his chest; his racing heart and ragged breath actually soothed her, and she closed her eyes, entranced by the sound.

As he heaved the blankets up around them and she snuggled into his warmth, she had the distinct impression that whomever was hidden under Severus Snape's skin was already in love with Hermione Granger.

 **oOoOoOo**

A soft chime sounded, signaling to the attendees that the first dose of the potion would be wearing off soon: even expertly brewed Polyjuice only lasts about an hour. Hermione tore herself away from Severus's warm body and began to yank her clothes on. He grabbed her hand. Hard.

"Come back to me. I want to kiss you in the moonlight," he whispered in his velvet baritone, his soft words at odds with his fierce grip on her hand.

Hermione leaned in to kiss him.

"I'm not finished with you, Severus Snape," she said against his lips, and rose to silently pad back to her room and pretend to take the second dose.

 **oOoOoOo**

When Hermione returned, Severus was still in bed, illuminated by a shaft of light from the moon and covered by a swath of snowy bed linen. She shut the door behind her and stepped out of her trousers. Even though the fire had died down, the room was still toasty. Severus pulled back the sheet, and she climbed in, settling in next to him with a contented sigh.

"Hello."

"Hello."

"Did you miss me?" she asked with a soft smile.

"Of course." He nodded at the shirt she hadn't removed. "Are you planning to torture me with your buttons again?"

"That's rich, coming from you."

"I have no idea what you mean."

She huffed a laugh. "I suppose _you_ don't."

Hermione rolled on her side, propped her head up with her hand, and looked him over. Clad in only his underwear, his eyes dark with desire, she drank him in. Merlin, she wanted him. She wanted him _now_.

Hermione pressed her palm to his underwear then snaked a finger inside the elastic. "Take these off."

"You sure?" he asked softly, his baritone ragged and gravelly.

"I am."

Severus smirked at her but obeyed; once naked, he dragged himself to the edge of the bed, sat there, and reached for her. She climbed on his lap, settling herself on top of his arousal. Hermione ground her hips into him, rubbing up and down against his length with her own wet desire.

Locking her eyes on his, she rose from straddling him, shed her shirt, and looped her panties in her forefingers, drawing them slowly over her thighs until they slid down her legs and puddled on the floor. She broke her brazen stare to glance at his cock, weeping and ready; she made her way back onto his lap.

As Hermione lowered herself onto him, his cock slipped back, missing her entrance entirely and sliding towards the crack of her arse. She pulled up and tried one more time. It happened again.

He hummed in frustration.

"Wait, wait," she said, trying not to giggle. "Let me..."

She rose slightly higher on her knees and reached underneath her body to angle his cock forward, gripping it and lining him up with her entrance. Letting herself down slowly, she impaled herself and gasped as the length of him seated inside her.

" _Fuck…"_ he hissed.

Grasping her hips at the bone, Severus dug his fingers into her flesh and guided her up and down in a lazy rhythm, staring intently into her eyes. _The way he looks at me...it's like he adores me._

Severus gave one final upward thrust, sending her mind reeling again. Before she realized what she had done, she had bitten his neck—hard. He gave a sharp cry and held her still, allowing his head to fall forward onto her shoulder. Dark, soft hair tickled her skin.

"You're exquisite," he said, finally looking up but still breathing heavily.

After a moment, they collapsed back onto the bed. Hermione smiled coyly at him; he raised an eyebrow and tossed the sheet aside, flipping her underneath him and exploring her mouth greedily with his tongue. She groaned and wrapped him in her arms, tangling her fingers in his hair and trying to draw him in even closer.

Using a lean thigh to spread her knees farther apart, Severus pressed his weight down on her as he rocked his hips against hers. Grasping both her wrists in one hand, he dragged them high over her head, pinning her in place. Hermione wrapped her legs around his back, and he entered her with a deep, velvet moan.

There was still enough light to see their reflection in the ceiling over the bed. _Gods_...

" _Severus…"_

And the world fell away while she tried to pretend the person making love to her was indeed the wizard he appeared to be.

 **oOoOoOo**

The chime sounded, indicating they should take the last of the Polyjuice. They had an hour left. That was all.

Severus stood, zipped his trousers—setting them low on his hips—and padded towards the bathroom.

"Give me a minute," he said, pausing at the doorway. While Severus was inside, Hermione removed the last of her potion from the pocket of her robes and vanished it.

Hermione strolled to the window; she found the glass wasn't a window at all, but a French door opening onto a small balcony. It looked over a small passage off Diagon Alley, and there seemed to be just enough room for two people to fit on it.

After a moment, Severus returned to the alcove and offered his hand to her with a slow smile.

"Come." He indicated the door to the balcony. "I want to kiss you in the moonlight."

She raised an eyebrow and looked down at herself, clad only in panties. "Er…let me…"

She located his shirt after rummaging around in the rumpled pile of discarded clothing on the floor and shrugged into it, leaving it unbuttoned. Sweet Merlin, it _smelled_ like him. She vaguely wondered if she could somehow take it with her at the end of the night.

"Ready," she said and reached for his hand, entwining her fingers in his.

As they crossed the threshold, Hermione felt the ripple of a warming charm surround her. At least she wouldn't have to worry that her bare feet would be cold. She would, however, have to worry that she was standing on a balcony clothed only in her panties and Severus Snape's unbuttoned shirt. Had she lost her mind?

"Stunning," he breathed, gazing down at the open front of his black shirt. "I always wanted to touch you." His fingertips grazed the skin between her breasts, awe etched in his features.

"And I, you," she whispered back and wrapped her body tightly around his, settling her head on his chest and listening to the rhythm of his heart. Severus snaked his hand under the shirt's fabric to stroke her back, and they remained skin to skin, embracing in the moonlight, for what seemed like hours.

All those other nights, it had been about _playing_. At most, she'd been curious. Thirsty for experience. Never anything more.

But this…. _this_ felt different. This _was_ different.

 _I'm falling in love with you_ _and I don't even know who you are._ She gazed up at him just as he dipped his head to gift her unending, slow, deep kisses that threatened to unhinge her mind and ruin her for anyone else.

And the pale light fell all around them.

 **oOoOoOo**

The tone that heralded the end of the evening sang through the air. They leaned into each other, desperate to taste one final kiss. After a moment, Hermione withdrew and turned and left the room without a word, staggering back to her alcove to change her clothes and wait for the release bell, feeling both utterly fulfilled and bitterly empty.

 **oOoOoOo**

Based on the number of owls waiting outside her locked window when she stumbled into her kitchen to brew coffee in the morning, Hermione should have guessed something was wrong. Two or three of the posts had been bright red. Once she saw the front page of the _Prophet_ , she knew the reason for them, and all thoughts of finding the person she had kissed last night were put on hold.

After spending a little over an hour attempting to calm herself—as well as trying to convince her stomach not to empty all over her trainers—she had decided her best course of action was to visit Hogwarts and talk to Headmaster Snape directly. She'd sent him her Patronus, requesting a meeting as soon as possible. The terse reply from his doe had told her that he knew the reason for her request.

Hermione pulled on her robes, leaving the ever-growing pile of owl post unopened, save for the Howlers that wouldn't wait. She hoped that the headmaster wouldn't have as many owls to deal with as she had.

In hindsight, she supposed the monthly gatherings could never have lasted. There were too many people involved, too many potential ways for it to go awry; too many wanted to settle slights from the war—real or imagined—and were looking for payback, even if it were only remitted in embarrassment.

She took another sip of her coffee. If she didn't leave now, she'd risk being late. But she didn't want to face Headmaster Snape. Hermione unfolded the paper and glanced at it again, hoping the sight of the headline and the photograph on the front page would spur her feet to move. They did.

 **Polyjuice Sex Club Shocks Wizarding Community**

 _Potter, Granger, Snape Among Those Named in Ministry Probe_

Hermione Granger and Severus Snape, partially naked and entwined on a third floor balcony, danced under the headline. Neither of them looked toward the camera in the photo—which was cleverly rendered as not to show anything indecent—because their eyes never left each other.

The bile in her throat threatened again. _Time to go._

 **oOoOoOo**

Hermione Apparated to the gate just outside Hogwarts, her hand tightly gripping the day's edition of _The Daily Prophet_. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. _He'll understand. He is a member, too, right?_

The relative warmth of the night before had given way to the chilly air and cloudless sky of an early autumn midday. She pulled her robes more tightly around her and, with grim determination, she began to make her way to the Headmaster's office.

 **oOoOoOo**

Hermione lowered herself down on the stiff wooden chair opposite Headmaster Snape's desk and straightened her robes. She laid the unfolded newspaper down on his desk, losing the fight not to blush.

An owl tapped at the window. They both ignored it.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," she stammered, doing her best to look him in the eye.

He stared back at her without looking at the _Prophet_ , folded his hands, and pursed his lips.

She took that to mean he was too angry to speak. He had a right to be, she supposed. Well, she had made the trip here; she might as well say everything she planned to. "I am sorry to have embarrassed you."

He remained still as stone.

Hermione blinked. She had never considered that the _Prophet_ would hold no sway over the former Death Eater. Well, now that she thought about it, what could they possibly print—true or false—that hadn't already been said? It was likely that nothing fazed him. Perhaps her humiliation had blinded her. Perhaps it had been rash to come here at all.

After a moment, he broke his stare and glanced down at the paper. "Why would you think this would have embarrassed me?" His words were almost too soft for her to hear.

She really had no answer for his question except the obvious: _who would want to get caught snogging Hermione Granger?_

"I mean…" she swallowed, finding her throat dry, "it's _me_ in the photograph. I can't imagine anyone would want to be photographed in that…situation…with _me_."

"Are you certain that's the real reason, Miss Granger? I would suspect the opposite—that you are embarrassed to have been photographed _with me_."

"No, sir," she mumbled. There it was. She said it. Would he…?

Apparently not.

"It would be much less surprising—would it not—that you, the Princess of Gryffindor and member of the Golden Trio, would be embarrassed to be _intimately associated_ with a spy and former Death Eater, an ugly dungeon bat and greasy git—shall I go on, Miss Granger?"

He was challenging her, but his words lacked their usual venom.

"I…you…no, sir." Merlin, would she ever be able to look him in the eye again?

She gazed at her hands folded on her lap. For an instant, she considered pretending it wasn't actually her in that photograph wrapped around the body of Severus Snape. She could say she would try to suss out who had taken her Polyjuice potion. She could hide behind a lie.

Truth. She promised herself that she would stick to the truth.

And _truthfully_ , part of her wanted him to know that it was actually her on the front page of the _Prophet._ That she had come more-than-willingly to whomever wore his features last night, because she had wanted him. She had wanted Severus Snape in her bed.

Hermione swallowed. "It was me. I didn't take Polyjuice last night."

The words hung in the air for so long, she thought he might never answer.

"Hermione."

She flinched at the sound of her given name, and glanced up from her now shaking hands. His dark eyes had softened. He rose and strolled to the front of the Headmaster's desk and took her hand, gently lifting her out of her seat.

"Did you like kissing _me_ in the moonlight?"

She heard it—the emphasis, subtle enough to be ignored should she choose to. Severus Snape was teasing her. Wasn't he?

But as he moved closer, she saw it: the trace of a bite mark on his neck.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

He reached out and took her chin in his hand and tilted her head upward, so she had no choice but to meet his dark eyes. With his next words, he confirmed all her fear and hope at once.

" _Considering what I believe is about to happen between us, you must call me Severus."_

* * *

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	14. Secret Rendezvous

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: Secret Rendezvous**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Humor**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: Sexual Content (Slash) , Language**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **Secret Rendezvous**

* * *

Harry had a secret. Well, it wasn't that big a secret as far as secrets went, but public opinion being what it was - and his reputation of being the Wizarding World's hero - Harry would rather it be kept just that: a _secret_. You would have thought that close to ten years after he'd defeated Voldemort that The Daily Prophet would have given up reporting on him. Unfortunately, they hadn't.

Harry stood on the other side of the road and stared up at the beautiful building in front of him, an imposing six stories of dark red brick that picked up the warmth of the setting sun. Flags fluttered in the wind and the lights from inside spilled across the footpath.

The Porter opened the door with a smile and a "Good evening, Sir," as Harry approached and stepped into the foyer. He tried not to gawk at the huge chandelier hanging over the black and white tiles. The hotel was stunning; Harry had never seen anything like it in his life. _These Muggles know how to live in style_ , he thought, as an older gentleman approached.

"How may I help you tonight, Sir?" he asked, subtly steering Harry towards the reception desk.

"I have a room reserved under the name of Potter," Harry told 'Richard' - as his nametag proclaimed - who swung the huge visitors' book around and ran his finger down a long list of reservations.

"Yes sir, the Terrace Suite." He took a gold key from under the counter with an elegant 'TS01' engraved on a small oval disk. "Edward, would you please show Mr. Potter up to the Terrace Suite?"

A gentleman pulled open the black grills of an old-fashioned lift and ushered him inside. Harry sat down on the small, plush purple seat and watched the numbers as the lift ascended.

"The Terrace Suite, sir," he said, indicating a door with a 'TS01' that matched his key. "Enjoy your night." The doors shut and the lift descended, leaving Harry alone in a deserted hallway.

Wiping his hands on his trousers, Harry inserted the key in the lock and noiselessly pushed open the door. A beautiful pale blue living room with comfortable-looking lounges greeted him, but Harry still had no idea who his date for the night was. Walking further into the suite, he stopped in the middle of the room and stared in shock.

He'd know that platinum blond head anywhere.

"Malfoy!" Harry gasped, shocked. He had to be wrong, after all; blond hair was common enough. He turned to face Harry and cool grey eyes slowly travelled from the shock of messy dark hair to the polished black shoes and back again.

"Potter," Draco drawled, covering up his own shock. _What the hell was he doing here?_

He'd grown since Draco had last seen him, now standing only an inch or so under his own six-foot, wide shoulders and narrow hips and _thank Merlin_ his fashion sense had improved. If Draco knew the cut of a suit - and he did - Potter was sporting a Hugo Boss suit with a subtle green tie that matched his eyes. Draco could admit, if only to himself, Potter had always been damn good looking.

"What are you doing in my room, Malfoy?" Harry snapped, annoyed, and trying not to let his eyes wander. _He's a good-looking git_ , Harry thought, taking in the dove grey suit, black shirt and grey tie, not a single blond hair out of place.

"Seriously, Potter, what do you think I'm doing here?" Draco couldn't quite keep the snap of irritation out of his voice. "You did order an escort for the night, didn't you?"

"You're not gay!" Harry could not contain his shock, seriously wanting to hex him right now.

"Not exactly," Draco admitted as he finished pouring two glasses of Firewhisky and passing one to Harry. "I'm bi."

"Bi?" Harry just stared at him confused. His brain just would not function; it was too much of a shock seeing Draco after all this time - and like _this_.

"Seriously, Potter," Draco snapped in annoyance, grey eyes glaring at him. "I like both men and women. Do keep up!"

He sipped his Firewhisky, grinning at the look of confusion Harry wore.

"Since when?" Harry couldn't help blurting out, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Since fourth year. Now did you come here to talk, or to engage in other, far more interesting, pursuits?" Draco asked, stepping into Harry's personal space and clinking their glasses together. For the life of him, Harry couldn't think of a damn thing to say as Draco's tongue flicked out to swipe the Firewhisky off his lips.

"So have you ever been with a man before, Harry?"

That deep husky voice was doing things to Harry's insides, making them squirm. He wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or something more. Unable to find the words, he simply shook his head.

"So why?" Draco's warm breath ghosted over his ear, and Harry shuddered.

"Curious," Harry stuttered, unable to concentrate with Draco so close. His aftershave invaded Harry's senses. Vanilla, almond, cinnamon and cloves; it reminded him of Mrs. Weasley's kitchen, and Harry chuckled.

"Not the reaction I usually get, Potter!" Draco grumbled. "What's so funny?"

"Your aftershave reminds me of Mrs. Weasley's kitchen. Sugar and spice and all things nice are not what Malfoy is made of," Harry said, grinning at Draco's huff of annoyance as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Harry.

"You're paying a thousand galleons for tonight and you're telling me my aftershave reminds you of Mrs- _bloody_ -Weasley's kitchen!"

Harry couldn't contain his laughter at Draco's scowl, but promptly stopped laughing when Draco stalked up to him; there was no other word for it.

Harry felt as if Luna's Nargles had taken up residence in his stomach as his arse encountered the back of a lounge and he was brought to an abrupt stop. The predatory look was sexy as hell, even if it did make Harry feel a little uncomfortable - or was that nerves making his insides twitch?

Draco struggled to keep the grin off his face at Harry's obvious nervousness as he crowded him against the lounge back. Draco finished his Firewhisky, put his and Harry's glasses on a small table, and stepped closer, right between Harry's legs, smirking as his Adam's apple bobbed from a nervous swallow.

"So, Potter," Draco murmured in Harry's ear, causing goosebumps to break out all over his body, "how much fooling around have you done?"

Draco flicked open the buttons on Harry's jacket and spread it open, pushing it from Harry's shoulders so it dropped onto the lounge.

"Not much." Harry was proud that his voice came out steady, as he certainly didn't feel it. "Just some stuff with Ginny." At Draco's querying look he continued. "You know - toys and ummm, stuff." He felt his face heat from the sound of Draco's chuckle.

"I'm so much better than…stuff."

Draco's husky voice sent ripples of arousal though Harry and he tried to hold back his groan at the thought, jerking slightly at the feel of Draco's lips nibbling at his neck. Without thinking, Harry tipped his head to give him more room. _Merlin, that feels good_ , he thought, shivering at the light nips. Strong fingers gripped his chin and he was faced with stormy grey eyes, laugh lines crinkling at the corners. Harry couldn't look away as Draco leaned closer and lightly brushed their lips together. He flicked his tongue over Harry's lips, licking away the Firewhisky before repeating the process two or three times. Tugging down Harry's bottom lip Draco lightly dipped his tongue inside. Without thinking, Harry granted him access and gasped as a warm, wet, inquisitive tongue invaded his mouth, making him groan. Harry instinctively gripped Draco's hips and pulled him closer, losing himself in the kiss.

"You taste like chocolate and whisky," Harry said, his voice rough and husky. They had finally broken apart, desperately needing air, lungs screaming and cocks throbbing. Draco's pupils were blown wide with arousal, and Harry was sure he looked the same. He licked his lips, his eyes flicking down to Draco's mouth and back up again. Harry dragged him closer and nuzzled Draco's neck, grinning at the faint gasp he brought forth.

"There's a nice big bed in the other room, we really should break it in." Draco tugged Harry off him and dragged him through the suite, into a huge bedroom with the biggest bed Harry had ever seen. Vaguely he took in the gorgeous panelled mirror above the bed and a huge arched window down the other end, but his focus was on the sexy man in front of him. Draco crowded Harry again, pressing one finger to his chest and pushing him back. Harry wanted to kiss that smirk off his bloody face as he took two steps backwards, scowling as he felt the bed right behind him.

Draco leant forward and kissed him again, their tongues duelling as he slipped one button after another out of their holes and pushed the shirt off Harry's shoulders, grinning as Harry found himself tangled in his shirt. Frowning, he tried to free his wrists, but Draco only offered him a mischievous grin before giving him one hard shove in the chest. Harry tumbled backwards with an undignified squeak, which he would deny with his last breath; although, with that evil smirk of Malfoy's, Harry doubted it would remain a secret for long.

"What the hell, Malfoy!" Harry snapped as he bounced on the mattress, trying to get his hands free. Wiggling around, all he managed to do was make himself more uncomfortable, twisting the shirt around in a knot. "Bloody hell," Harry muttered, trying to sit up, much to Draco's amusement. "Are you going to help or not?"

Grinning, Draco reached down, pulled Harry's shoes and socks off, and tossed them across the room.

"Great, thanks, that's a lot of help," Harry muttered sarcastically, to Draco's further amusement. He was just too easy to rile.

"I rather like you tied up and helpless, Potter. Totally at my mercy."

At that evil grin, Harry stopped struggling. He'd not seen that look on Draco's face for years, and it still made his insides twitch nervously. This time, however, he knew without a doubt that Draco was up to no good as he flicked open the clasp on Harry's pants and slowly slid down the zipper, never breaking eye contact as he dragged them off and tossed them somewhere behind him.

"Gryffindor red briefs, Potter, seriously?"

Draco's bark of laughter broke Harry out of his trance and he grinned in return.

"At least they aren't the ones with gold snitches on them," he replied, to Draco's look of horror.

Draco really was far too easy to tease. "You _are_ kidding!"

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away as Draco unbuttoned his pristine white shirt and tossed it carelessly across the room, dropping his trousers, unashamed about his near nakedness. _Not that he's got anything to be ashamed of_ , Harry couldn't help thinking; _he's bloody gorgeous._

Draco had filled out since their last year at school. His shoulders were wider, chest lined with defined muscle. The scar Harry had given him in school had faded until it was hardly noticeable - unless you knew where to look. Plain black briefs hugged his narrow hips and long legs were braced apart on the floor.

Watching Harry study him was more of a turn on that Draco would have imagined as he crawled onto the bed and over Harry, skin on skin, and kissed him. Fingers twisted in his hair to keep him still, tongue lazily exploring Harry's mouth, and his whimper went straight to Draco's cock, making it twitch in anticipation with an answering twitch in Harry's briefs.

"You're a bloody tease, Malfoy!" Harry tried to thrust up, to get more of that delicious friction, but Draco wasn't having any of it. He rolled off Harry - to his frustration - which turned to a startled gasp as Draco gripped him through his briefs and squeezed. _Oh, Merlin, that felt so good,_ Harry's brain managed to comprehend, which really was an achievement in itself. The only other hand he'd ever had on his prick - besides his own, since he learned to masturbate - had been Ginny's, and hers had not felt like this. Draco's grip was perfect, firm enough that Harry just wanted to thrust.

"I've not started to tease you yet, Harry," Draco whispered in his ear and tugged his briefs off, leaving Harry naked but still tangled in the sleeves of his shirt. In all reality, those words should have worried him, but all Draco did was chuckle to Harry's muttered, "Hurry up and get on with it then."

Slithering back off the bed making sure to rub up against Harry as much as possible, Draco somewhat roughly rolled him over and divested him of the shirt, sending it sailing somewhere in the room; Harry didn't care where.

That predatory look in those steely grey eyes sent a sizzle of lust through Harry as Draco lazily let his gaze wander over Harry's body, focusing on his rapidly hardening prick. Glancing up from under those impossibly long eyelashes, Draco gracefully crawled between Harry's legs and grinned as he slowly leaned forward and lightly licked the head, long swirling licks that had Harry biting back embarrassing noises. Focusing on his task, Draco wrapped his lips around him and sucked, lightly flicking his tongue over the slit and making Harry groan at the warm, wet heat that was slowly engulfing his cock.

He'd never felt anything like it in his life. Ginny hadn't much liked giving head jobs so Harry had never pushed the matter, but nothing had ever felt this good, and his own hand just didn't compare.

"Merlin," Harry moaned, unable to keep quiet, as Draco swirled his tongue around his substantial length as if he were slurping on an ice cream from Florean Fortescue's. Harry's hips canted off the bed as Draco found that sensitive dip just under the head and flicked his tongue over it. "Oh fuck!" Harry muttered clearly to Draco's amusement as the bastard actually chuckled, sending amazing vibrations through Harry's cock.

Never breaking eye contact, Draco relaxed his throat muscles and swallowed Harry to the base. Pulling back slightly so he could breathe, Draco licked his way back again, smirking at the noises Harry was making. He knew he was damn good at this, but watching Harry come apart under his mouth and hands was probably more of a turn on that it should have been.

Bobbing his head and making the most obscene noises Harry had ever heard, Draco reached up and rolled Harry's balls between his fingers, making Harry groan even louder. He simply couldn't help it. That warm wet mouth and wicked tongue was shattering his control; add those teasing fingers and Merlin, he was so close to coming.

"Draco, fuck…so good…close." Harry twined his fingers into Draco's hair, gripping it tight. "I'm so… _close_ \- " which, of course, didn't slow Draco down the in slightest; with a bellow, Harry came, harder than he ever had in his life. Laying there, panting, he grinned as Draco swallowed and licked his lips, grinning in return before crawling up the bed. He dropped down besides Harry, who suddenly found himself unable to look at him, and stared at Draco's chest instead.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Draco asked nudging his chin up and forcing Harry to look at him. Confused green eyes staring back. "Do you want to stop?"

"Merlin, no," he blurted, shocked Draco would think such a thing. "I've never felt anything like that in my life, it was amazing."

"Then what's wrong?" Draco asked, lightly kissing him and rubbing his thumb over Harry's cheek. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want - that's not what tonight is about."

"I never expected sex to be that good," he admitted, feeling shy again.

"Please tell me you're not a virgin," Draco asked, horrified at the very thought.

"Of course not," Harry scoffed "Well not in the normal ways." Draco was thoroughly charmed by the blush that stained Harry's cheeks. "I've only ever fooled around with Ginny and it was horribly awkward." At Draco's raised eyebrow he continued, "It was like fooling around with my sister." Both men shuddered at that thought.

Draco leaned in and lazily started kissing Harry again, swiping his tongue over his lips but never dipping inside. Harry whimpered at the teasing, convinced Draco was going to drive him mad.

"Sex is supposed to blow your mind, Harry, and make you beg for more," Draco said against his lips, peppering them with light kisses. "Destroy your concentration during the day and wreck your ability to form complete sentences at night, and I'm going to prove it to you."

"Oh, _yes,_ please." Harry moaned at the images Draco was so effortlessly bringing to life. Harry had never particularly obsessed over sex in his life, even as a horny seventeen year old. He'd had far bigger things to worry about at the time.

"Just lay back, relax, and let me make you feel wonderful," Draco whispered in his ear, flicking his tongue around it and making Harry shiver as his body was covered in goosebumps. Harry had no trouble believing Draco's claim of being the reason he couldn't string a sentence together; he was finding it rather difficult as it was, and he suspected Draco had hardly started.

Draco wrapped his fingers into Harry's dark hair and roughly tugged, giving those wicked lips easier access to his neck. Bites and nips and sucking kisses were enough to cause Harry's eyes to flutter shut and a breathy moan escape. He could feel Draco's smile against his skin.

"You're a goddamn tease, Malfoy," he stuttered as Draco swirled his tongue over his nipple, lightly biting the hard nub and swirling his tongue over the small hurt.

"Oh, I promise you, Potter, I'm not teasing," he replied, going back to teasing Harry's nipples until they were hard little nubs. Trailing kisses down his chest, Harry squirmed as Draco trailed his tongue around Harry's belly button, making him giggle. _Oh, he's ticklish,_ Draco thought, tucking that fact away for later use. Continuing lower Draco nipped on Harry's hipbone to his startled gasp. That wicked, teasing tongue trailed random patterns all over Harry's body, making him twitch and squirm in a combination of ticklishness and horniness.

"Fuck, Draco, please," he begged, thrusting up into that delicious warmth that engulfed his cock again. Harry could not tear his gaze away as Draco swallowed him whole and smirked at Harry's groan. Insistent fingers gently started to tease and tickle around Harry's entrance, making him gasp. He had never suspected that it would feel so amazing. His toes curled in pleasure as Draco continued to drive him crazy with lust.

Draco never would have thought that listening to Harry Potter beg and whimper would be so damn arousing, or that he'd be so damn bossy. _Oh I'll gladly give you more,_ he couldn't help thinking as he muttered _lubricus_ to Harry's startled gasp.

"You could have bloody warmed it!" he grumbled loudly, to Draco's chuckle.

"Sorry." The amusement dancing in those steely grey eyes clearly said he wasn't - _at all_.

"Well, get on with it," Harry ordered, earning himself an eye roll and a chuckle, but Draco obeyed, to Harry's delight.

Still lightly sucking on Harry's cock, Draco focused his attention lower and lightly teased Harry's arse, adding slightly firmer pressure until his finger slipped inside to warm, clinging heat. Dual groans echoed around the room.

Harry clenched his arse around Draco's finger and was rewarded with a low growl. While the intrusion didn't hurt, it did feel a little strange. Slowly Draco drew his finger out and back in, to Harry's gasp.

"You like that?" he queried, the laugher clear in his voice.

"What do you think?" Harry snapped to Draco's bark of laughter.

"I've two fingers up your arse, I think you should be nicer to me."

"Why?" Harry demanded. He had no idea why he was getting snippy now.

"Or I won't do _this_." Draco smirked at Harry's howl of pleasure as he stroked his fingers over his prostate.

"Oh Merlin," he gasped, as Draco continued to lightly thrust and tease him. One hand tormenting his arse, the other lightly stroking his cock - it was sensation overload.

"Fuck Draco, please," Harry begged, "I need you, now." Crawling up the bed Draco kissed him again, twirling their tongues together.

"Your wish is my command." He pushed Harry's legs up and out, opening him up to his penetrating gaze. "I'll be as gentle as I can, but it could be a bit uncomfortable at first."

With a nervous swallow, Harry nodded. Carefully, Draco lined himself up and slowly started to push, rubbing his hands up and down Harry's thighs as he gently thrust into that tight, warm channel.

"Good?" Draco leaned over and kissed Harry, watching the expressions flit across his face.

"Will be when you start to move," Harry grinned.

"You're a very demanding bottom, do you know that?" Draco questioned to Harry's grin, but did as ordered and started to thrust - long, slow, teasing thrusts, until Harry got used to his size - and then started to speed up.

Harry had given up trying to hold back the noises he was making. It was pointless. Merlin, this was the best sex he'd ever had. His body was alive with pleasure, it zipped along his nerves, making them dance with delight.

"Merlin, Draco, fuck," he moaned, gasping as he changed the angle and deep-seated pleasure exploded, to Draco's chuckle. Coherent speech was impossible; his brain had short-circuited with the pleasure.

The only sounds in the room were their gasps, moans, and the slap of skin against skin as Draco thrust harder and faster, bring them both closer and closer to the edge. He wanted to feel Harry lose control and clamp down on him. Keeping up the punishing pace, Draco reached between them and wrapped his fist around Harry's cock, starting to jerk in time to his thrusts.

"Ahhh fuck," Harry moaned, biting on his lip and thrashing under Draco. "So close," he muttered, which spurred Draco to thrust harder and faster, driving them closer. A final hard thrust sent them over the edge as Harry came with a loud bellow and coated Draco's hand and his own stomach with the force of his release. The exquisite feeling of him clamping down hard on Draco's cock sent him over the edge and he lost control, flooding Harry's arse with his own.

They were both panting as if they'd just finished Quidditch practice, and grinning happily. Carefully, Draco pulled out of Harry and muttered a quick cleaning charm before flopping back down beside him, brushing his sweaty fringe out of his eyes.

"So," Draco drawled, feeling quite pleased with himself. "Did it live up to your expectations?"

Harry could only nod, feeling a blush stain his cheeks. Grinning, Draco _accio_ 'd the blankets and snuggled up to Harry. "Sleep, you'll need it." Obediently Harry drifted off, snuggled under the blankets with Draco.

Sometime after midnight Draco stood across the room in one of the hotel's huge fluffy bathrobes and watched Harry sleep. The moonlight cast shadows across the bed, illuminating the man sleeping there. He couldn't shake the feeling that tonight had changed them both, it ways that were not clear yet. He should get dressed and leave - he'd never spent a whole night with a client - but he couldn't think of Harry in those terms. It felt like they'd been building up to tonight since they were eleven years old.

"Draco?" a sleepy, sex rough voice called from across the room.

"I'm here," he replied, smiling in the dark.

"Come back to bed," that same sleepy, sexy voice called out, pulling back the covers. "I'm lonely."

 _It's after midnight, I'm on my own time - why not,_ Draco thought, and unbelted the dressing gown, tossing it away. He climbed back into bed, pulling Harry to him and ravening that sexy body again until the room was again filled with their lustful moans.

* * *

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	15. Snared Senses

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title:** **Snared Senses**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: BDSM, Sexual Content**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **Snared Senses**

* * *

This was the night. Hermione was going to do it. After weeks of thinking, planning, and working up the courage, she was going to ask him for a more permanent arrangement. The fact that she didn't even know his name didn't matter one bit.

Six months ago, when she'd gone with Ginny to 'lite night' at the sex club Snared Senses, Hermione thought her friend was nuts. Round the bend. Lost the plot. What could possibly be the appeal of a sex club? Bad music played far too loud, strangers groping you, and the humiliation of being publicly sexualized. It sounded like something right out of her nightmares. Hermione liked her life carefully ordered and tightly controlled. She was desperately private (her brush with fame during the war hadn't endeared her to the spotlight) and even more so in her sex life.

It wasn't that she was a total prude. She'd had more than one partner, after all, and was even liberated enough to own _two_ sex toys, thank you very much. She liked the safety of the sexual encounters she engaged in. So the idea of going to a sex club – even on a 'lite night' where the activities were far more demure than normal – was wholly unpleasant to her.

But the moment she had stepped into the club, Hermione knew that her life would never be the same. While Ginny was shocked, embarrassed, and even a little uncomfortable with the sights that greeted them, Hermione discovered that in some secret, long hidden part of herself, there was a sex kitten waiting to get out. She watched as men and women turned themselves over to more dominant partners to be controlled and satisfied. Far from the degradation and cruelty that she'd expected, the submissive partners seemed more serene, more fulfilled, than anyone she'd ever seen. They handed themselves over to their Dominants without reservation. And despite the fact that they seemed to want nothing more than to please their partners, they always ended the night deliciously satisfied.

Ginny had excused herself from the night early and never mentioned the club again. Hermione, however, had gone back the very next week and began her initiation.

At first, she'd mostly watched. Knickers soaked, she wandered from one room to the next, seeing more forms of sex than she'd ever thought existed. If she was feeling particularly adventurous, at the end of the night, she would choose an exciting couple, and seat herself along the wall. Her hand would slide inside her panties and one delicate finger would rub over the sensitive nub at the top of her sex. In moments, she would be shuddering through a climax.

A month later, one of the couples that she enjoyed watching most asked if she wanted to join in. The witch was on her knees, sucking eagerly on her partner's cock. The choke collar he had around her neck pulled tight when he wanted her to go deeper. Despite what Hermione would have expected, it was the woman who invited her. The offer froze her in shock, and then ignited a fire in her blood that couldn't be extinguished. Did she want to get on her knees before a strange man and pleasure him alongside another woman? The throbbing between her legs said _yes._ She'd never taken more than passing pleasure from performing oral sex on a man, but the idea of sharing a cock with a woman who was bound and subdued, had Hermione getting slick in anticipation.

The experience had been terrifying, gratifying, and had set her up to become an active participant in the club's activities. A few weeks later, she dared to join the ranks of masked Submissives along the Waiting Wall. She watched with bated breath as the Dominants, also in masks, began selecting their partners for the evening. Some had regular partners that they rarely strayed from. Some never chose the same partner twice. Others, like her, had yet to decide if they wanted variety or were searching for the right fit.

That first night, her legs had been shaking as she stood along the wall and let herself be inspected. Entering the club was automatic consent to be observed. Touching, even casual, required prior verbal consent. And safe words were, of course, magically enforced.

Though two wizards (and one witch) showed interest in having her for the night, Hermione waited and accepted an invitation from a man she recognized and knew had mild tastes. Despite the masks, it was often easy to spot regulars. She had seen him with women before, and had often touched herself watching him fuck them. He seemed to know that she was still learning, because he was not only lenient with her, but also thorough, educational, and varied his choices of activities. They chose each other three more times before moving onto other partners. The next had been a witch that Hermione had been desperately eager to please (even if just for the one night). After that came a man whose tendencies toward sadism were far too extreme for her.

And then... _he_ came along. She had seen him before, always with a woman, always controlling his partner with an iron hand. He was tall and lean, with dark hair and darker eyes. Though the entire upper half of his face was concealed beneath the mask, he rather reminded her of Severus Snape. Best of all, he had the voice to match. She'd only heard him speak once before that night, his deep, commanding drawl ringing out over the music as he'd ordered the woman on hands and knees before him to come. It had sent shock waves of pleasure straight to her core.

She had come to terms with the strange fact that this new Hermione, the sexually submissive Hermione, would have been devastatingly attracted to Snape. The parts of her that had balked at his anger and derision, that had feared his dominance and control, were now the parts that longed to be subdued. Snape, however, was in the same place he had been since barely surviving the final battle: withering away in a private home for the infirm. And since she had no need to fear humiliating herself by revealing her submissive needs to the _real_ Snape, his doppelganger was a perfect choice.

He had come right to her on the Waiting Wall, looking at not a single other witch that night. They studied each other for long moments, her eyes roving over his body, his own gaze drawn to her parted lips and then down to her barely concealed breasts. Then, he held out his hand to her and said a single word. "Licorice." She smothered her smile at his choice, but repeated the word back to him. A small spark flitted between as the magic took hold. Their safe word was set. Then, he took her outstretched hand and pulled her into a private room.

She'd been surprised by his choice, at first. Since she had seen him with other partners in the public rooms, she knew he had no aversion to being watched. And because she knew he'd seen her there as well, he couldn't have thought it would be her preference, either. But once he'd pulled her inside and shut the door, a new kind of anticipation began to thrum in her veins. The music was dampened, only the rhythmic beat pulsing through the walls. The light was muted, casting a soft glow over the camp bed in the center of the room. After all her recent sexual encounters being out in the open and observed, it was suddenly thrilling and a little nerve wracking to be alone with an unknown man. The magic of the safe words tied into the club was nearly foolproof – she'd tested it herself – but as long as she didn't say that word, he could do whatever he wanted to her.

He had circled her, stalking her the way a jungle cat might stalk its prey. Then, he'd stopped behind her and cupped her breasts. She could feel his warm breath against her ear. His tongue came out to trace the shell of it as his nimble fingers rolled her nipples and plucked them. When she cried out and arched to his touch, he withdrew.

"On your knees," he ordered in his deep growl. She had complied instantly, going to her knees and settling back in a submissive position, hands palm up on her thighs, eyes downcast. "I am going to ask you questions, and you are going to answer me quickly, and honestly. You will refer to me as Sir. If you fail to do so, or I suspect you are being less than honest in your answers, you will be punished. Do you understand?"

She shivered, already throbbing and wet. "Yes, sir."

"Do you like to be spoken to during your sexual encounters?" He resumed circling her. Hermione paused. That hadn't been what she was expecting. None of her partners before had asked about _her_ preferences. "Answer me!" he demanded, the bite of his voice licking along her skin like a lash.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He circled her once more. "Are there any words or phrases you do not like?"

"None in particular, sir."

"So if I told you that I was going to fuck your tight cunt, and if you were a very good little slut I would let you come, would that turn you on?"

Her breath hitched. "Yes, sir."

"Is your pain tolerance high?"

"Moderate, but it seems to heighten the closer I get to orgasm, sir."

"And do you desire to be hurt?"

Here, Hermione had paused again. Not in surprise this time, but in thought. He allowed her a moment, and then she shook her head. "Not necessarily, but I am not opposed, sir."

"Then what do you desire? What do you seek when you come here?"

"Pleasure from being controlled. Release from thought or decision. To use and be used for sexual gratification." She heard him pause his circling behind her. "Sir," she added.

"And are there any acts, aside from the limits of the club, that you are averse to?"

"None, sir." Snared Senses had strict policies against bestiality, bloodletting, or water sports on the premises. While there were many things she hadn't yet tried, those were the only ones she was unwilling to engage in.

"Well, then, _cocotte_ , let us begin."

That night had been beyond her wildest dreams. He'd plied her body with strong, sure hands, wrapped her tightly in the silken embrace of his voice, and brought her to screaming orgasm with a curved, thick cock that seemed insatiable. By the end of the night she had eagerly sucked down his release, wanting nothing more than to please him. He was exacting and demanding, with a virtual wellspring of sexual depravity for them to enact. When she needed it, he could be gentle and soothing. At the end of their time together she was more satisfied than she'd ever been in her life.

He was _perfect._

The next week, lined up with the other Submissives along the Waiting Wall, Hermione had prayed to any deity that would listen for him to come to her again. As soon as he walked in, his black eyes met hers, and she fell willingly into them. He had gone directly to her. After she had accepted his safe word – Lemondrop this time – they went to a private room once more. Inside, he stripped her bare, body and soul, and began fulfilling every secret desire she'd ever had.

For months, they had been choosing only each other in the club. They knew each other's likes and dislikes. What turned them off and what could bring them to near instant orgasm. But far from making their situation boring, it gave them a deeper sort of intimacy. His dominance, his need to control, was perfectly suited for her need to give up that control and be subdued. When she needed, he gave. When he craved, she fulfilled. Hermione had long since admitted her addiction to his touch.

Now, she was ready for more. Because it was being continually and thoroughly attended to, her _need_ to be controlled had evolved into a simple craving. But that didn't mean that she was content to only be satisfied once or twice a week. She knew that she would never again want to have a 'normal' sex life, which meant that she needed to find a man who could suit her tastes _out_ of bed as well as in it. The arrangement she had at the club took care of her sexual urges, but she wanted something more encompassing. And unless she was very much mistaken, _he_ could provide what she was looking for.

Their time together had proven to her that he was intelligent, witty, strong, generous, sarcastic, and honorable. She was attracted to him, completed sexually by him, but more than that... she _liked_ him. She liked that he could laugh during sex. She liked that he was always considerate of her needs. She liked that he challenged her mind. And it didn't hurt that he could soak her knickers with just one look.

Her only fear, the thing that had been holding her back for weeks, was how he would feel about her personality outside the club. It was one thing to be controlled, to be submissive, in bed. But in her everyday life, Hermione was as opinionated and assertive as ever. If a man treated her on the street the way she liked to be treated in the bedroom, she would squash him like a bug. So what if he wasn't interested in a woman who was only _sexually_ submissive? What if he would take one look at daytime Hermione and decide she was too bossy, too insufferable, and dismiss her entirely?

Old insecurities reared their ugly heads and made her doubt her resolve. Still, she had to at least try. She'd never been one to shy from her goals. She went after what she wanted. And she was certain that this was what she wanted. So, she wore her sexiest stiletto heels, a sheer black lace dress that he had _growled_ in satisfaction at seeing her in once before, and piled her hair high on her head to accentuate the slim line of her neck. If she was going to risk rejection, she was going to make sure she looked damn good doing it.

It was nearly impossible not to fidget as she lined up against the Waiting Wall. It was merely a formality at this point; they always chose each other. When he walked in, she saw his eyes rake over her from head to toe and noticed in satisfaction that his jaw clenched and his eyes grew dark with desire. It made her feel powerful. She could do that to this endlessly controlled, rigid man. She knew how to make him come undone. How to drive him mad. It was the ultimate rush of submission. The juxtaposition of vulnerability in dominance, of power in servility.

He held out his hand to her. "Jellybeans." As always, a smile curved her lips at his choice in safe word. She repeated it back to him, they waited a moment for the magic to spark between them, and then he pulled her into the first available private room.

As soon as the door was closed, he pinned her against it and ravaged her mouth. Unbidden, her leg rose to hook around his hip, pulling him closer. She could already feel his erection rubbing against her through the plain black trousers he wore. His hand slid down her back and gripped her arse, kneading the firm flesh there. "Did you wear this for me tonight?" he demanded, breaking away from her mouth to move his teeth and tongue down her neck.

"Yes," she cried, arching her back to him as he bit down on the crook of her shoulder.

"But not just for me. You like feeling the eyes of every man in the club on you. You wanted them to see you, to want you." He nipped along her collarbone, moving lower, toward the swell of her breasts.

"No." Her breath came in short pants as she tried to focus on forming words. He was driving her mad with his ferocity. "You, only you." He groaned, slipping his hand up the short dress and feeling her bare mound. His breath hissed as he thrust one finger into her already wet channel. She clenched around him, body trained to respond to him, primed by his rough kisses and urgent bites.

"I am going to tie you down and lick every inch of your skin. When I'm done, you're going to beg me to let you suck my cock. Then, if you are a very good slut, I am going to fuck you. I'll pound your cunt so hard you will barely be able to walk out of here in those sexy little heels of yours." He curled his fingers around her neck, putting just enough pressure on her throat for her to moan in submission. "Now, tell me you want it."

"Yes," she breathed raggedly. "Please take me." He didn't wait for more than that. With a small flick of his wand, tethers appeared at the top and bottom of the cot. He lifted her effortlessly, then stretched her out on the bed like a sacrifice to some dark sex god. With her arms tied together above her head, her breasts were thrust upwards, budded nipples straining against the sheer lace of her dress. He tied first one leg, then the other so that she was open and vulnerable before him. Starting at the toes that peeked out of her heels, he ran the tip of his tongue up her body. Slowly, tortuously, he traced every vein, stopped to lave every freckle. When he got to the juncture of her thighs, exposed beneath the rucked up skirt of her short dress, he paused. Then he skipped past it completely.

Hermione moaned low, desperate for his touch between her legs. She undulated her hips, trying to seek any kind of relief from the throbbing ache... But he moved up to her ribs, then her breasts. She could feel the wet heat of him through the lace. The stiff tip of his tongue traced around her nipple, circling slowly. She arched her back, trying to increase the friction between them. Instead of giving her what she wanted, he moved higher. His mouth returned to her ravaged shoulders and neck, licking where he'd bitten and marked her. Finally, he captured her lips and devoured her.

When he broke the kiss, they were both panting and sweat shone on their skin. He stripped his clothes off with quick, efficient movements, piling them atop his boots at the end of the cot. When he was naked, her eyes were drawn to his rigid cock. It jerked under her gaze. She licked her lips, already eager for the mild, salty flavour of him. He watched her with hooded eyes, then reached down and grasped himself. A single drop of moisture formed on the tip. Hermione squirmed, wanting to lick it off.

"Tell me what you want," he ordered. She lifted her eyes from his cock, past the pale, scared expanse of his chest, and up to his face. His mouth was twisted into a knowing smirk, and not for the first time, she wished she could see his face uncovered.

"I want to suck your cock, sir," she breathed. The jutting appendage seemed to strain towards her. He gripped it tighter and took a step towards her.

"Go on."

"I want you to slide your cock between my lips. I want to wrap my tongue around you, take you deep, and then I want you to fuck my throat." He took another step towards her, a second drop of precome beading on the tip of him.

"Tell me how."

"Hard," she gasped, eyes once more riveted on his cock. "Hard and deep and rough."

"And do you want me to come down your throat?" Hermione licked her lips again and moaned low. She opened her mouth to say yes, to beg him for it, then remembered he had promised to fuck her pussy if she behaved. She didn't want to have to wait for him to become hard again. She wanted him immediately.

"No, sir. When you're done, I want you to fuck me."

"You want my cock in your quim?" He was close enough now that she could almost reach him with her mouth. She whimpered softly.

"Yes, sir."

"We will start with your mouth, and I'll decide if you deserve my cock in your cunt, slut." He gripped her jaw. "Open." Immediately, she opened her mouth. He slid his cock between her lips. She hollowed her cheeks and drew him in, tongue rubbing along the head and then the under side of his cock. When he hit the resistance at the top of her throat, he stopped and pulled back. She sucked hard, trying to keep him in her mouth, and was rewarded with him thrusting forward once more. He rocked deeper and deeper into her mouth each time until he was pushing into her throat. She moaned around him and his control seemed to break. He griped her hair and began fucking her throat roughly, thrusting forward quick and hard. Hermione breathed through her nose and worked on keeping her lips tight around his shaft as he worked himself in and out.

She was throbbing, moisture gathering so quickly that a drop of it welled up and rolled down her arse to drip onto the cot. _This_ was what she craved. He was nearly mindless with his desire for her. She moaned, trying to press her legs together for some relief from the ache but they were tied firmly. Each time the tip of him was buried in her throat she felt herself clench, knowing that soon he would be buried inside her somewhere lower.

In a few minutes, she felt his cock begin to twitch and swell. Before he lost control, he pulled out of her mouth and caught his breath. Her lips were shining with moisture, her hair mussed from his grip. Her eyes bounced from his erection to his face, waiting impatiently for him to give her more.

"Do you want me to fuck your cunt now?" he asked raggedly, trailing his thumb over her bottom lip and watching the way she shuddered in anticipation.

"Yes. _Please._ "

"Tell me you want me."

"Gods, yes. I want you. I need you."

She could see the thrill that ran through him at her pleading. He was fighting to control the need rising within him. "Who does your body belong to?" he demanded, circling towards the bottom of the cot and climbing on it.

"You!"

"This," he stopped and ran his tongue over her swollen, slick slit, "whose is it?"

"Yours!" She shrieked and bowed off the cot. He moved further up, nipping at her breasts, sucking her earlobe.

"What am I going to do to you?" he growled, his eyes meeting hers.

"Anything you want," she whispered back, eyes bright with desire. He groaned, lowered his mouth to hers, and thrust into her hard as he kissed her. Her first cry was caught between them, then he pulled out and plunged back inside her. He breathed in each successive squeal of pleasure as if they were the air that sustained him. His hips snapped to hers, faster and harder as he built up momentum. She was lifting her hips to meet his thrusts, straining against her bonds to try and take him deeper. He wrapped one arm under her thigh and jerked it up, snapping the tether and then shoving her knee against her chest so he could fuck her harder.

The angle of her hips made the tip of his cock rub deep inside her, making her tense and moan, her body ready to shatter at any moment. His own climax danced just under his skin, so close, but he grit his teeth and pushed it away, not ready to be done, wanting to drive himself deeper and deeper into her until she would never get him out. His free hand gripped in her hair, yanking her head to the side so she was looking directly into his eyes. "You. Are. _Mine_." He growled the words with such intensity that Hermione felt herself fly apart, shatter into a million little pieces. Her orgasm ripped through her, making her body clench around him helplessly. He continued to plunder her, thrusting deep as his hips slammed into her with such force that it would have moved her across the cot had she not been tied down. Then he kissed her, rough and desperate, muffling his own shout against her mouth as he thrust forward once more and spilled within her.

Their bodies jerked and twitched, aftershocks of pleasure tripping through them deliciously. The kiss that had been so savage only a moment ago became soft, tender. He slid his tongue over her lips, ghosting kisses against her jaw and eyes. She sighed and felt another thrill of pleasure go through her. This was what made her so sure she wanted more with him. Not just the animalistic lover who devoured and dominated her. But the gentle side of him, too, that cherished every inch of her.

When the last drops of pleasure had been wrung from them, he slowly withdrew from her, picking his wand up and using it to free her from the bonds and vanish the one that was still around her ankle. Then he scooped her into his arms and held her against his chest as he crossed the room to collapse into the plush chair in the corner. They both caught their breath, hearts slowing until they were beating in tandem.

"How do you feel?" He always asked her that. She smiled and stretched a little in his arms.

"Wonderful. Sated. Boneless. You?"

"Well, I'm certainly _bone_ less after that." He smirked and she laughed, reminded yet again of just how much she enjoyed him. All of him.

"You seemed very... possessive tonight."

He stilled, breath catching for a moment before he forced his chest to rise and fall evenly. "You know I don't like to share."

"I know."

"Is that-" he risked a glance down at her, "a problem now?"

Her eyes flew up to his, surprised. "No! Not at all." She smiled and felt him relax again. "I like it. In fact..." She took a deep breath and made sure to keep her voice light. "In fact, I've been thinking maybe we should make this a more exclusive arrangement."

"I was under the impression that neither of us saw anyone else in the club. What more did you have in mind?"

"I think we should see each other _outside_ the club."

"You mean socially?" He sounded dubious. "Be friends?"

"Actually, I thought we would continue with this type of arrangement. Except without the club setting. And more frequently."

"You want to reveal our identities to each other and then keep sleeping together?"

"Perhaps even more than that."

"A relationship?" She nodded, biting her lip. Would he push her away? Demand they start seeing other people now? She only just managed to keep from twisting her fingers together nervously. "You are asking for a relationship with me without even knowing who I really am?"

"I already know everything I need to know about you."

He grunted in disbelief. "What if I'm an old man?" he challenged. Hermione shrugged.

"You're obviously young enough to keep me satisfied sexually. You're healthy and have plenty of stamina. I assume that you're older than me, but I don't much care what the number is."

"My face could be scarred or deformed behind this mask."

Hermione shrugged again. "I like to think that I wouldn't be so vain or shallow that something like that would bother me. I am obviously attracted to you. That wouldn't change."

"I could be married."

She froze, dread icing along her veins. Her heart twisted sharply. "Are you?" she bit out between clenched teeth.

"I am not. But it proves my point. I could be anyone. Have any kind of life outside these doors."

"I think we are compatible enough that we could make something more between us work. My biggest concern is that you won't find my personality outside of here palatable. The rest, I believe we can work out in time." She took a deep breath. "If, however, you don't wish-"

"What if you know me?"

"What?"

"What if we already know each other, out in the world? Would you still want more if you knew me, had a history with me?"

Hermione laughed, splaying her hand on his chest. "I have no doubts that I would recognize you if I knew you already. You are a rather unique man, after all. In fact, there is only one other man who I've ever known like you in looks and mannerisms, and I know for certain that you aren't him. So-"

"Do you?" His black eyes bored into hers, robbing her of words. Her breath caught. "Are you so positive?" He stayed perfectly still beneath her, not touching her as he watched her every reaction. She drew back, brows furrowed as she studied him.

"Y-yes..." Suddenly she _wasn't_ so sure. It couldn't be possible. Could it? Everyone knew he was too injured, too weak to even take care of himself. But... no one had been able to see him. No one, not even Harry, had actually laid eyes on him since the final battle. She searched those black eyes, seeing them as if for the first time. There were so many things that were new and different. His body was lean, yes, but muscular and solid. His hair was black, but soft and clean. Those hands... gods, those hands. They were strong and sure, impossibly deft. That hadn't changed, but somehow the idea that the same hands that had diced and stirred endlessly were the hands that had been over every inch of her skin, _inside_ her... She tried to reconcile the two and was brought up short.

But there was one thing that whispered to her, slid along her synapses with startling clarity. That _voice_. There really was only one man who had a voice like that. With shaking hands, Hermione tugged lightly at the edges of his mask. It resisted for a moment, then the magic holding it there gave way and she was able to pull it free. It fell from her fingers to the floor, forgotten.

"Snape," she whispered. He swallowed, and she watched the movement as if in slow motion. Her eyes roved over his face, each little thing she knew about _him_ , the man she had come to know and trust with her body, sliding around her mind as she pushed the two beings into one. There were more lines around his eyes than when she had seen him last, but somehow, he seemed younger. Perhaps the strain of the war aged him prematurely. But now that it was over, had he regained some of his lost youth? That inky hair spilled across his forehead and brushed his shoulders, more tame than it had ever been in her years as a student. Perhaps he merely had the time or inclination to manage it now that he was no longer a spy? And his body... She let her eyes rove over him. Her legs were on his lap, so she wasn't yet forced to face his groin, but the rest of him seemed somehow both strange and familiar. The height was there, the imposing stature. But now he seemed so much more solid than he ever had before. She was caught between her attraction to the man who'd just brought her to climax, and the awe she felt for the man she'd known years ago.

She'd been a fool not to see. Perhaps willfully ignorant of the truth. But then, would it have mattered?

She had admitted to herself not long after she had first come to Snared Senses that if she had been aware of this part of herself back then, she would have been attracted to the dominance, the control, of Severus Snape. It was one of the things that had drawn her to _him_ when she'd first seen him. So now that the two men were, in fact, one and the same, did that really change anything? Should their history matter?

A new thought struck her and she gasped softly. "You knew. You already knew who I was."

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Maybe your second or third time in the club. Before you began to participate."

Hermione ripped her mask from her face and let it clatter to the floor as if in accusation. "You knew that long ago? Why didn't you say anything?"

"What was I supposed to do? Go up to you and ask why Hogwarts brightest graduate was in a sex club?" He shook his head, and Hermione, reluctantly, had to agree with him.

"Why approach me at all, then?"

"I hadn't planned to. I stayed away from you for weeks. You seemed content with the first Dom you'd picked, and I had no reason to go near you."

"But then?"

"Then you switched. You spent the night with that sadist who-" He stopped, trying to regain control of his breathing. He realized his fists were clenched and released them. "I realized that there were things you did not need to experience. Things you did not need to be exposed to. And I could keep you from them by giving you what you were looking for myself."

"You thought you were saving me?"

"Not in so many words, no. You were always free to use your safe word, when you realized that your partner was not right for you. I knew you would not come to any real harm. But I'd watched you enough to know what you wanted. And to know that I could give it to you."

"Then none of this has been real? None of it was about you?"

"You know better than that," he said sharply. One long, pale finger swept across the inside of her thigh, through the wetness that lingered there. "Undeniable proof, wouldn't you say?" He sounded bitter.

Hermione closed her legs self consciously. "That's not what I meant. The point of this, of all this," she circled her hand, encompassing the club with the gesture, "is to get pleasure through pleasing. Through doing what someone wants."

"No, it's not." Snape's voice lowered, impossibly, and Hermione found herself pinned with his eyes. "For you, it's about getting pleasure in being _controlled_. The acts themselves don't matter nearly as much. Whether or not they are my fantasies, my desires, isn't nearly as important as _making_ you do them." She started to protest, not that he was wrong about what she wanted, but that if they weren't his desires, then their arrangement was one-sided. "But," he went on as if she hadn't tried to speak, "what we do in here has always been in accordance with my wishes. I am not a saint, Miss Granger."

"We just... fit?" Hermione sounded doubtful.

"So it would seem."

"Then why didn't you tell me who you were? Why hide the truth, especially when it became apparent we were compatible?"

Snape sighed, wishing not for the first time in their discussion that he was clothed. "The point of coming to an anonymous sex club like Snared Senses is to avoid having to reveal my identity. It is hardly as if witches flock to my bed with this face and my reputation."

"No one has a chance to react to your reputation because no one thinks you are out in the world. Everyone is convinced that you are infirm and shut away in a care facility."

"Exactly. My prospects are little better than they were before the war, so being truly anonymous is infinitely helpful. I am not a man who can go out and woo a woman. This solves that problem for me."

Hermione shook her head. "There are so many things incorrect about that assessment of yourself that I won't even begin to try and contradict you. But still, your erroneous thinking aside, that doesn't answer my question. You told me why you originally thought you needed to come to an anonymous sex club, but that doesn't explain why you didn't tell _me_ who you were. You must have seen early on that this," she gestured between them, "was good."

"Indeed." He fought a smirk, recalling how quickly it had become apparent that they were sexually compatible. "But what should I have said to you? 'Oh, by the way, I am actually the greasy git from the dungeons, now bend over so I can fuck your arse'? How about, 'remember that professor you hated in school? Well now you've got his cock in your throat.' Or 'yes, I've known you and been mercilessly cruel to you since you were eleven, now let me continue the humiliation by spanking you until you come'." He ran one hand down his face tiredly and then rubbed the back of his neck. "I was selfish enough to want this to continue, and revealing my identity would not have been conducive to that end."

"You don't know that."

"Don't I?" He gave a short, mirthless bark of laughter. Hermione fought to keep from shaking the man.

"I'm still here, aren't I? I haven't run from the room, or even tried to move from the rather delicate position we find ourselves in." She shifted her legs slightly, feeling her calf rub against his cock. "If you would stop dwelling on the past for a moment, I could tell you that none of our history together matters in this situation." Snape's face clearly showed his disbelief. "Yes, I was taken aback at first. It is still difficult for me to reconcile the man I knew during the war, the harsh Potions Professor, with the man I've come to know you as now. But in case you haven't noticed, I am incredibly attracted to you. Even – _especially_ – the things that haven't changed. I would not have accepted your first offer if I didn't find the similarities between you and Professor Snape to be a turn on. Before, those things upset or frightened me, but surely you know that now they are a huge part of what draws me to you."

"Perhaps I had hoped..." He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a breath between his teeth. "Whatever thoughts I had before this revelation are irrelevant."

"No, they aren't. My offer still stands. Is it one you want to accept?" Despite the shock of learning his identity, despite her still conflicted emotions, despite the turn the night had taken, Hermione was still nervous he would reject her. Obviously he had no problem fucking her, knowing who she was. But that didn't mean that he would want any kind of relationship with her outside the club.

A long silence stretched between them. Snape studied her carefully, those black eyes seeming to pierce right through her. They drifted over every feature of her face, lingered on each laugh line, pausing at every freckle. Then he slowly curled his fingers around her ankle. "Yes, it is." There was dead silence for a moment, and then Hermione let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Well, then." She suddenly felt almost shy. Asinine, really, considering his seed was still dampening her thighs. A shiver went through her at the thought.

"It seems we have quite a bit to discuss. Might I suggest we adjourn to somewhere more... neutral to continue our conversation?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed hurriedly. Snape offered her his hand to help her rise from the chair. She took it, feeling his fingers as if for the first time. As if she hadn't long since memorized every callous, every groove, every vein in those capable hands. When she gained her feet, she was forced to keep a hold of him for a moment. He had indeed 'pounded her so hard she could barely walk in her heels,' just as he'd promised. Once she steadied herself, he rose and walked to where he'd piled his clothes.

She watched him, thinking it should be bizarre to see him naked now that she knew who he was. Before, he had always been covered in a swath of black that stretched from neck to boots. Strangely, though, he looked just as commanding, just as in control, while wearing nary a stitch. Was it simply his presence that demanded respect? He slipped on his trousers the way any other man did, and yet he was so startlingly different from any man she'd ever known. Once he had finished buttoning his shirt and pulling on his boots, she looked him over and wondered how he could look so familiar and yet so foreign. Her mind kept trying to superimpose the image of the Potions Professor in severe, billowing robes atop the far more casually dressed man standing before her. The boots and snug black trousers were the same, but the black linen shirt he wore was open at the collar, and his sleeves rolled up to reveal pale, corded forearms. Still, there was no question that it was the same man. Without his mask on, his hooked nose betrayed his identity beyond a doubt.

He cleared his throat and looked down at her body pointedly. Hermione jumped a little and laughed. With a touch of her wand, the sheer material became a flat black. A touch risque, perhaps, but certainly presentable. Snape scowled. He stalked towards her, pointed the tip of his wand at the hem of her dress, and drew it lightly downward. The material grew along with his wand until it brushed the top of her knees. Hermione pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow at him.

"If our previous encounters failed to show you, then I would think tonight's performance would have made it clear that I am a _very_ possessive man."

"So it would seem."

"And you're certain that's not going to be a problem?"

Hermione let his velvet words roll through her and felt her stomach clench. There wasn't any other man she wanted. Perhaps his possessiveness should irritate her, perhaps it was an antiquated notion, but she found herself excited by it. She felt _wanted_. She shook her head. "No, I don't think that's going to be a problem at all."

"Good." He offered her his arm in a rather formal gesture. Despite the strangeness of it considering their recent intimacy, Hermione smiled and slipped her arm through his. "Would you like to go to the bar, or-"

"Not inside the club, please," Hermione cut in. She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, then admitted, "I think we should talk about this somewhere... outside here." Snape paused a moment, then nodded.

"What do you suggest?"

"There's a deli a few blocks down from here. It's open all night. If you don't mind a muggle establishment?"

"Not at all." He opened the door and ushered her through. Instantly, the sounds and smells of sex were all around them. "Wait-" he stopped and caged her against the wall, his head bent down close to hers. At first, Hermione thought he was going to kiss her. They had kissed so many times before, but this would be their first one without- She gasped, her hand going up to her uncovered face. Already, he had flicked his wand at the door they had just walked through. He caught the masks as they flew towards his hand, then lifted hers to place it on her face. "Mustn't give up our anonymity completely," he murmured. His breath brushed against her face, but Hermione felt those words all the way to her toes. He smirked. She plucked his mask from his free hand and fitted over his eyes.

"Considering both our reputations, I think that's sage advice."

With both their masks in place, he took her arm once more and they walked through the club. Questions began to churn in Hermione's mind, but she held her tongue. There would be time to ask them soon enough. Once they made it out the front doors, Snape seemed to change. She watched his entire countenance relax. His face softened somewhat, his posture became a little less rigid. She was intensely attracted to his dominance, but Hermione was relieved that his demeanor was less intense outside the club. It gave her hope that they could have some equality in the nonsexual part of a relationship between them.

They walked down to the deli in companionable silence. Hermione needed three steps in her heels to every one of his long strides, but he didn't seem inclined to hurry her. If anything, she thought he was perhaps a little _proud_ that she was still a bit unsteady on her feet. When they reached the small shop, he held the door for her and ushered her through with one hand on her lower back.

How was it possible that such an innocent touch sent a thrill through her after everything they had already done together?

They both ordered sandwiches – roast beef and cheese for him, BLT for her – and then took seats in the far corner of the shop. Hermione took a small bite, but wasn't really hungry. Snape didn't even lift his sandwich. He tented his fingers beneath his chin, a gesture that she'd seen countless times before.

"I can see that you're barely containing your curiosity, Miss Granger. You have questions. Ask them."

"I think, considering the nature of our... relationship... perhaps we can move past formalities? I'd like if you called me Hermione."

He gave a single nod of his head in agreement. "That seems reasonable. You should call me Severus, then."

"Severus." Hermione smiled a little at how foreign the name sounded on her tongue. "That's going to take some getting used to."

"Indeed." It would be a difficult switch for him, also.

"Well, then, _Severus_. Why does the entire wizarding world think you are helplessly infirm and cloistered away?"

The smirk he gave her contained no humor. "All things considered, would you want to face life in the public eye with my reputation and history?"

"Maybe things would have been difficult before you were exonerated, but after you were cleared, you became a national hero. You're just as famous as Harry." Hermione sighed inwardly as his lip curled at the mention of Harry. Surely they were past old animosities?

"Exactly my point, Miss- Hermione. I would not have been able to step foot outside my door without being bombarded by Skeeter and her ilk. Worse still, not everyone was entirely convinced that I was innocent. While my dueling skills are proficient, I had no desire to continue looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life."

"Alright, that's fair enough." There had been times where she'd seriously considered either moving out of the country or changing her name to get some peace. She could imagine that it would be far worse for him. He had always seemed like an intensely private person, and the trial had aired the most intimate details of his life to all and sundry. It couldn't have been an easy change. "What about the club?"

He arched a brow. "I told you earlier, women have never flocked to my bed. I am not... self conscious about my appearance, but it has done me no favours. Combined with my natural inclination to be a snide bastard, anonymous, impersonal sex was the perfect solution."

"But why a BDSM club? There are plenty of sex clubs in England. Most of them are anonymous. Why Snared Senses?"

"I would think my natural inclination towards dominance would be obvious."

Hermione shook her head. "If that was the way it worked, I would be dominant sexually, too. In every other area of my life, I need strict control. Even when I was younger, I was better at forging my own path than following rules."

"So I recall," he drawled. She flashed him a somewhat abashed smile.

"But it's that drive to always be in control in every other aspect that makes me want to give it up completely in bed. Being sexually submissive is cathartic for me. It's a release." She watched him as he picked up his sandwich and finally took a bite. It seemed like such a mundane thing for a larger-than-life character like Severus Snape to be doing. But he was still as human as any other. He had to fill his stomach, empty his bladder, cut his hair, just like everyone else. He was just a man. An enigmatic, sinfully sexual, paradoxical man. "So it doesn't make sense to me," she forced her mind to focus and went on, "that you would be seeking any kind of release through control simply because it was in your nature. Maybe it's like that for some people... but I don't see that as being true for you."

She shrugged, then took another bite of her sandwich to cover her nervousness. She was making a huge assumption about his personality and drives. While she didn't think he would mock or criticize her for it, he could easily be offended. He studied her for a moment longer, then indulged her in a small smile.

"Actually, you are completely right." Hermione felt the tension that had begun coiling in her stomach ease. "I believe my proclivities have more to do with the lack of control I had in my life for so long. It is... extremely satisfying for me to exert that control over a sexual partner." His eyes grew hot and she could tell that he was thinking of getting a taste of that satisfaction again. "So now that we are aware of each other's motivations, what more would you like to discuss?"

"Well, I had gone to the club tonight with the intention of asking for a more permanent arrangement. Something more involved, and even though I believe it's already been an unspoken arrangement between us, something exclusive."

"And knowing what you do now, is that still your intention?"

"It is."

"Then tell me, Hermione," she shivered at the way he drawled her name. "What exactly do you propose?"

"To..." she had to stop and take a breath. He was devouring her with his gaze and she was becoming lost in the intensity of it. "To see each other socially. Maybe go on dates." The word sounded insipid when applied to the man sitting in front of her. "And be available to each other more than once or twice a week for sex."

"How do you know once or twice a week isn't all that I am capable of?" He raised both brows in mock concern. Hermione nearly choked on her drink, she was laughing so hard. His own lips curled up reflexively, enjoying her amusement.

"I hardly think that will be an issue," she finally managed to choke out.

"Perhaps not," he agreed. "The rest of your requests also seem... reasonable. Though I will warn you now, I am hardly more pleasant than you'll remember me being."

"You are already far more pleasant than I remember you being. We have had an entire conversation, including several delicate topics, and you haven't insulted me once."

"Haven't I? How could I have been so remiss?" He looked her over carefully, as if trying something to insult. "Alas, I can find nothing to criticize, apart from your choice of companion."

"Of all the things in my life right now, that's the one thing I feel most confident about."

"Is it?" He seemed guarded, as if he expected her to deny it.

"Yes, it is." She paused, recalling her own insecurities. "I think it's only fair to warn you as well, that I haven't changed much in the years since you knew me last."

"The fact that you are a submissive in a sex club would seem to belie that statement."

"I have changed in terms of sexual preference, yes, but outside sex I am still pushy and exacting, and I talk far too much, and I read incessantly. I recall you being rather put off by those traits."

Severus sighed and studied her hand resting on the table as he thought of how to form his next words. Unbidden, his fingers traced along the veins beneath her pale skin. "You know that I was a spy during the war. That my actions were constantly observed and questioned. I'm sure you also have figured by now that it would have been suicide for me to show any kind of partiality to a muggle-born student. I won't apologize for my actions during the war. I did everything in my power to work toward the greater good and the fruition of Albus' plans. But you should know that I never bore you any ill will.

"It was refreshing to have a student so eager to learn, while so many of your peers were more interested in Quidditch or socializing. Your reliance on books and refusal to make your own intuitive leaps drove me to distraction, but even that trait you grew out of. By your last year under my tutelage, I had nothing but respect for you. Though I will admit, even if I had been free to, I likely would not have divulged that fact to you. Praise does not come easily to me, nor do pretty phrases. They never have."

Hermione forced herself to think about his words rather than the way his fingers were tracing over her hand. "I don't hold your actions during the war against you, Severus. I understand them, and if anything, I should thank you for them. Knowing that you didn't hate me back then goes a long way toward soothing old insults. But I think you're wrong about not being able to give praise easily. You have a honeyed tongue, Severus Snape. Maybe it only shows during sex, but you've said more sweet things to me during our times together in the club the last few months than the last man I was involved with did during an entire year."

"I hardly think dirty talk during sex is the kind of compliment most women want."

"Maybe not. But I'm not most women. I don't need someone else to praise my intelligence for me to feel smart. I don't need my life choices approved of to feel validated. In most aspects of my life, I'm confident. The one area where, for now, I do seem to need nurturing... is sex."

"Yet another way that we 'fit'?"

"So it would seem." Hermione lifted her hand from the table and laced her fingers together with his. He seemed startled by the gesture at first, then squeezed her hand lightly. "Now that we've decided we won't utterly hate each other's personalities, what's next?"

"I thought you were the assertive one outside the bedroom?" Severus smirked. Hermione scowled at him and flicked the tip of his nose playfully.

"I am. But that doesn't mean that I have all the answers in a situation like this. We sort of went about starting a relationship backwards. We already have intimacy down to an art. It's the lighter things that neither of us are familiar with."

"Then I suggest we set aside specific times for satisfying each other sexually. Weekends are a given, considering we have already been meeting at the club every weekend. Perhaps one or two more nights a week, when both of us are available, while we are getting to know one another better?"

"That seems reasonable."

"And as for the 'lighter things' as you call it, I would not be averse to the idea of... courting you." He paused, searching her face as if he expected her to reject the offer. "If that is what you want," he clarified.

"I think I would enjoy that." The smile that had begun as a simple quirk of her lips spread into a grin.

"Good."

"And if we realize that we are as compatible as I think we are? Besides in just sex?"

"Then I would request we add a level of convenience to our arrangement."

"Convenience?"

"Sharing the same living space would certainly make for better ease of access," he said conversationally, as if discussing an article he saw in the paper, but she could see his pulse jumping. "And if one of us is already spending most of their time at the other's residence, it certainly makes more sense financially-"

"Are you suggesting cohabitation?" Hermione's grin widened.

"Stop smiling like the Cheshire Cat, woman. Yes, that's what I'm suggesting. I will not be an easy man to live with. I keep my books meticulously organized-"

"Mine are alphabetized by author, then subject, then genre," she interjected.

"I keep odd work hours."

"Working in the Regulation of Magical Creatures department means that I'm up for midnight meetings with the centaurs, and early morning gatherings with House Elves."

"I am a terrible cook."

Hermione slid out from behind the table on her side and moved to sit beside him. "I love cooking."

"I-" his breath caught as she shifted slowly, ever so slowly, closer. "I have been told that I am insatiable."

"Oh, I don't think that's going to be a problem." She whispered the words against his lips.

"What will your friends say?" he managed to ask, his hands sliding up her back of their own accord. She smiled again, and he could feel the curl of her lips against his.

"I love them, but I don't really care. Besides, I think they'll adjust fine. After all, they love a good scandal." She pressed her lips to his, twining her arms around his neck and drinking him in. One of his hands fisted in her hair, holding her to him tightly. He was her match in every single way. She never would have imagined, never could have dreamed, that _he_ would be the one to complete her life, but now that she had him, she was never letting go. Scandal or no scandal, she was his for good.

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	16. The Tale of the Beetle Jar

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: The Tale of the Beetle Jar**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Humor**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: Language**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

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 **The Tale of the Beetle Jar**

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Hermione checked her lipstick in the mirror for the third time that night. She still wasn't sure how Ginny and Luna had been able to convince her that she could pull off the deep berry color that she was currently fretting over, but they had. It kept drawing her eye, especially since she never normally wore more than mascara. And now look at her: bronze eyes and berry lips. It was too much! She felt overdone, like a child playing in her mum's makeup, but they had sworn she looked drop-dead gorgeous when she had sampled it the other day at the new beauty shop in Diagon Alley. She had handed over her galleons before she could truly take time to consider it, and now, here she stood, panicking in her bathroom. She was terrified it was going to rub off onto her teeth or something else decidedly not sexy. Supposedly it was spelled with a twelve-hour sticking charm, but she was skeptical; magic and beauty products were two things she still wasn't completely comfortable mixing.

She heard her Floo chime in the other room, and the accompanying whooshing noise that denoted someone entering her home. "In here!" she called out, the shout echoing off the tiles around her.

Ginny entered, stopping in the doorway behind her. "No," she said simply. Hermione whirled around, mouth dropping open in shock.

" _No?_ " she repeated, wondering to what her friend was referring. Surely it couldn't be the lipstick.

"We are going out. As in, outside, into the real world, to mingle amongst other successful, mature adults. I don't have a child or husband clinging to me for this _one_ night. You are going to dress up, and you are going to _like it,_ or else! No trousers," she admonished, dipping her head at the offending garment. "You're allowed a skirt or a dress. Those are your choices. And since I'm feeling properly magnanimous - and _knew_ you wouldn't be sporting without proper encouragement - I took the liberty to buy you a proper dress for the occasion. You're welcome." At this, she brandished a shopping bag that Hermione hadn't noticed while she and her clothing choices were being attacked.

Hermione glowered at the bag. "What's wrong with my trousers?" she challenged, caressing her cotton-blend covered thigh. "I happen to _like_ these trousers. They make my legs look long, and properly cup my arse; I've been told so when I've worn them at work. More than once!"

They were her _nice_ trousers. In fact, they were probably her favorite item of clothing, aside from the denim jacket that she had thrown over her purse, waiting to be donned.

"What's wrong is they show absolutely _zero_ leg! We're having a hen night, not an old crone night! I'm wearing a dress, Luna's wearing a skirt - the others are dressing up also - and you are going to wear something nice if it kills you. I'm not going to allow you to go out looking like you live alone with thirty kneazles."

Hermione harrumphed. "Now, that's not fair; I only have _two_! Crooks and Fitz do not in any way, shape, or form equate to _thirty_. And Crooks is only half kneazle." As if he'd been called, Hermione's new kneazle, Fitzwilliam, slunk his way into the room, winding around her legs before hopping up onto the counter.

Ginny leveled an unimpressed, pinched glare at her friend as she stood there, scratching at her pet. "Again, I will not let you out of this flat unless you are properly attired for fun," she said maniacally, thrusting the bag at her. "And you're going to let me at that hair."

Hermione seethed but took the bag. She knew that if she didn't comply, Ginny was liable to force the issue, stripping her and then burning her clothing into nothing as Hermione watched, dancing on the ashes as she cried.

"Fine, but only because I fear for the safety of my poor trousers."

Ginny glowed, teeth flashing brightly as she grinned. "Perfect. I'm going to go get something to drink while we wait for Luna." She turned on the spot, copper hair fanning out behind her as she flounced triumphantly towards the kitchen.

Muttering the whole while, Hermione stripped down to her lacy black panties and bra, then stuck her hand into the bag and grabbed at the garment, chucking the empty bag over her shoulder petulantly. Fitzwilliam wasted no time in pouncing on the discarded plastic, reacting estatically when it crinkled underneath his frantically batting paws.

"Oh, _fuck_." she breathed, holding the dress up in front of her and eyeing it for the first time. "Ginny's trying to kill me, isn't she, Fitz?" The kneazle was too distracted by the bag to deign to answer.

The dress looked to be two or three sizes too small; Hermione had no idea how she was supposed to be able to fit into it without looking like a sausage bursting from its casing. Maybe Ginny needed glasses like Harry… She had never been so off on her size! Was she going to need to use an Engorgement Charm just to make it fit?

"If I suffocate, I'm going to come back and haunt her until she dies, and then I'll haunt her grave…" Hermione vowed to her young familiar, his intelligent peridot green eyes locked on her, tail flicking back and forth lazily.

Full of trepidation, she pulled the garment over her head and let out a breath when she realized it was stretchier than it had originally felt, easily covering her curves. After she smoothed the material over her body, she turned towards the mirror to take in the damage.

Hermione was sure her eyes bulged out when she saw her appearance in the mirror - the dress was a turtleneck with black and white stripes and no sleeves. It clung tightly to her body, and Hermione was sure that it came from the misses' section, as it barely hit her mid-thigh. She fussed at her reflection, turning this way and that; she had to admit her begrudging, but frank, appreciation of Ginny's skill at picking out flattering clothing for her, no matter its store of origin.

"That looks very fetching on you," A soft, lilting voice carried over to her, startling her from her posturing. "A bit tight, but that seems to be the style these days. Just be careful you don't go wandering in any fields, as the Blibbering Humdingers are known to take off with maidens that they find to be particularly scrumptious."

Hermione blinked a few times, trying to wrap her mind around Luna and her "Loony-isms," as Ron called them. She still had a bit of a hard time deciphering what the blonde meant from time to time, despite the many years they'd spent as friends.

"Why, Luna, dear, I do believe there was a compliment buried under there," Ginny joked, coming up behind the blonde, a pop can in her hand. Luna grinned noncommittally and shrugged, making her way over to the bathroom counter and pulling herself up onto the marble surface. When Fitz noticed her presence, he abandoned the bag and hopped up next to her and settled down. Luna began to scratch behind his ears, and the small audience watched as Hermione tugged at the dress, attempting to get an extra inch out of the length.

Ginny tutted at her and slapped at her hands. "None of that! It looks perfectly fine where it is; don't you dare stretch it out!"

"I feel like my arse is on display!" Hermione whinged.

"Nothing wrong with that, it's a beautiful arse. Nice, and firm, and round…" Luna drifted off, a hazy look in her eye that made Hermione blush spectacularly. Hermione was quite used to Luna and her ambiguous sexuality, that was, until it was turned against her own person.

Ginny laughed at her friends as she stepped into the bathroom and set her pop down on the counter. "Luna's right. Besides, that's the point! You _and_ your arse deserve some love and attention tonight, and you wouldn't be getting any if you had kept it covered up in those horrible, old lady trousers. Now, enough about you and your damned plump arse!"

Hermione couldn't stop the snort of laughter that escaped her. She loved these two witches so much and was proud to be their friend.

Hermione's laughter was cut short by a look of horror as Ginny pulled out her wand and advanced on the brunette. "Time to tame the beast."

 **oOoOoOo**

Hermione was still getting used to the length of the dress when they finally Apparated to Diagon Alley and began making their way towards their destination.

They chattered excitedly as they walked; They didn't get the chance to go out together often, but when they did, they snatched up the opportunity greedily. They had already had a luncheon earlier in the month, but Lavender's hen party was exactly the type of excuse they needed to justify a secondary excursion.

Lavender and Ron were due to be married early Sunday afternoon, and Parvati - the maid of honor - had invited the bridal party out for drinks and karaoke - what Lavender deemed appropriate for a hen night. Hermione and Ginny had enjoyed a nice, private laugh about that; it was no secret that Lavender had been enormously offended at Ginny's own hen night, which had been full of male strippers and whipped cream.

The bridal party consisted of Parvati, her twin - Padma, Ginny, Luna, Hermione, and, surprisingly, Susan Bones, another of Ron's exes.

Lavender had originally tried to exclude Hermione from the bridal party - despite her inclusion of Susan - which resulted in Ron threatening to ask her to be a groomsman instead. She would have been the final member of his party, joining all five of his brothers, and Harry as the best man. This had caused a pretty major tiff between the two lovebirds. Lavender did eventually concede, however, saying it was much more fitting for her to be a bridesmaid, all things considered.

Hermione knew what "things" had been "considered," though; Molly Weasley had turned her infamous cold shoulder on the blonde, going so far as to threaten to not bake the cake, and Lavender hadn't been able to cope with being a pariah within her soon-to-be family. She finally went and confessed her true insecurities to Ron, who had reminded her that, despite the depth of their relationship, Hermione was nothing more than a sister to him. He said that their past - and massively failed - relationship should be proof enough of that. He also pointed out that she had chosen Susan to be in the party, and that just because Hermione wasn't _her_ personal friend didn't mean she was a threat to their happiness. "Besides," he'd said, "I dated Susan longer." After that, Lavender had softened somewhat towards Hermione, and Molly had lifted her self-imposed ban on all things Lavender.

Despite all that, Hermione had tried to keep out from underfoot, and thus ended up spending most of the last three months in the company of the Weasley men and Harry, helping the latter to fulfill his duties as best man. She had greatly enjoyed the time spent with her two best friends, but she was quite done with the incessant masculine drivel. She could only hear them talk about Quidditch scores or the latest PlayWizard so many times, although they only brought up that last because they knew it took the piss out of her.

Which is why when it came time for the stag do and hen night, Hermione had been quite glad that Ron hadn't actually made her a groomsman. In a very un-Hermione-like fashion, she was happy to be going out, doing something decidedly more girly and out of her comfort zone; she had helped Harry plan out what the blokes were going to be doing, and she had zero interest in playing Quidditch at night with a glow-in-the-dark ball set, then chasing it all down with Ogden's. Thanks, but no.

The bar the ladies were gathering at, The Horny Toad, was relatively new, having popped up in the aftermath of the war. It was a favorite of Hermione's, and she had gotten to be on quite good terms with the proprietor over the intervening years.

Things were just starting to pick up for the night when they got there, and they began scanning the dusky room for a booth or a high top table. They found a group that was about to leave, so they stood by, chatting absentmindedly, waiting to snipe the table out from under the soon-to-be-departing party before someone else could. After all, there were six women that needed to accommodated tonight, and a large table was a commodity that they just couldn't pass up. Even if they had to resort to a bit of cutthroat behavior to get it.

As soon as the group at the table began to scoot out of the booth and gather up their things, Luna Apparated to a seat to claim it, leaving Ginny and Hermione chuckling, and the departing group scowling at her forwardness. Luna didn't seem to notice their disapproval of her methods, and was already perusing the drink menu as her friends made to join her.

"Hmm, do I want a Fizzing Whiskey or a Draught of Living Deathtini?" she considered lazily, her pale brows furrowed in thought. As Hermione and Ginny were getting settled, the other four women entered the bar, and, spotting the group at the table, began to wade their way over through the sea of fellow patrons.

"Good Merlin, it's packed tonight!" Susan exclaimed, huffing out a breath as she sat down. The other three finally straggled up the the booth after they had found their way impeded by a flux of servers from the kitchen on their way to deliver floating trays of food.

"Happy hen night, Lavender!" Hermione said brightly, smiling at the curvaceous witch.

"Is that the drink menu, Luna?" Lavender asked, refusing to acknowledge Hermione. This caused Hermione's face to pinch slightly, and Ginny to scowl, her nostrils flaring as her eyes bored into her future sister-in-law.

Luna looked up from her careful perusal and blinked owlishly at the bride-to-be.

"Yes, it is, but I'm not through with it quite yet. Give me just a moment; I should be done by the time you're done talking with Hermione." And with that, she stuck her nose back between the folds of the menu, oblivious to the mortified look on Lavender's face.

Silence reigned around the table for a moment, before Lavender picked her pride up off the floor and addressed Hermione with all the dignity and poise she could muster.

"Thank you. Hermione," Lavender choked out, taking a tad longer as she seemed to chew on the name as it forced its way past her unwilling lips.

Hermione, in the name of cohesion and harmony, pasted a bright smile on her face and addressed the witch again.

"I'm so thrilled Ron has you. It's truly nice to see him so happy and comfortable in his own skin."

At that Lavender's bitter, almost deranged-looking smile took on a more gentle side. "Thank you," she breathed out, her shoulders losing the tension they had been holding. "He means the world to me."

Luna very subtly passed the drink menu over to the other side of the table, and Ginny took the opportunity to engage Susan in a discussion about the latest Quidditch match of the season - the Ballycastle Bats vs. the Falmouth Falcons - and everyone else around the table fell into easy conversation as they waited for their server to come and take their orders.

 **oOoOoOo**

The ladies were just finishing their desserts when they noticed a very unwelcome sight.

"Oh, no! What are they doing here?" Padma groaned, eyes locked on the figures of the seven very familiar men who had just walked through the door.

Lavender - heavily in her cups by now - frowned and pouted like a child when she saw her fiancé.

"Merlin's pants! I told them not to come here! 'Any pub _but_ The Horny Toad,' I said. And did they listen? No!" Hermione groused as she rose from the table and made her way towards the bar where the men were all gathered, loudly discussing their game.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, tapping the messy-haired wizard hard on the shoulder.

Harry jumped and whipped around, a guilty, sheepish look already in place on his face.

"Merlin, Hermione! Don't scare a chap like that; you're going to give me a heart attack!"

"Harry James Potter, your antics will not dissuade me from my purpose of coming over here: What are you doing _here_? I played go-between for you and Padma for _two weeks_ while we planned this, and you promised to stay away for the night, or do you not remember?"

Hermione scowled at the small grin he shot her.

"About that," he scratched at the back of his head in nervousness, "We originally went to the Leaky, but the bar's been bought out for the night for some private event - only through access to the alley allowed, so that's what we did. Once we got into the alley, Ron decided he wanted to go here. I really tried; he just wouldn't listen to me, 'Mione! He didn't know you guys were here, either, so it's not really a case of foul play. Can you just give him a break? He's been in a right mood all day, and no one can get it out of him what's wrong, other than that it doesn't have to do with Lavender or the wedding."

There was a loud scraping sound behind her, and Hermione turned just in time to see the back of a black head of hair make its way through the crowd towards the loo.

"Was that Pansy Parkinson?" Harry asked, clearly straining for _something_ that could distract Hermione from her warpath.

Hermione shrugged dismissively, rounding again on her best friend.

"Pansy Parkinson won't distract me from ripping you a new arsehole, Harry," Hermione laughed, punching him solidly in the shoulder. "Your wife is not going to be happy when she finds out you're being so lackadaisical about this, you know."

Harry's expression grew grim. " _I know_. I know, but -"

Just then, there was a loud shout and a string of swearing from the area of the loos.

"What's going on? Someone set a banshee loose?" asked Charlie Weasley, coming over to join Harry and Hermione, most of his brothers following him. The glaringly noticeable exception to the rule was Ron, who was slumped over the bar, his shoulders hunched protectively over his second pint.

Slowly, the screeching grew more thunderous and more adamantly agitated as the fight - for it was now obvious that's what it was - spilled from the women's loo and into the pub proper.

Hermione's eyes popped wide and her jaw dropped when she realized it was _Lavender_ who was doing the majority of the wailing, the other noises caused by spellfire between her and another screaming witch. The same dark-haired witch who had left the bar top not two minutes earlier.

Patrons quickly moved out of the way, effectively enclosing the sparring women in a circle of onlookers, much to the annoyance of the staff, who were trying to break through to put a stop to the fight.

"You horrid harpy! Just leave me alone!" Pansy spat - for it was indeed Pansy, tears running unchecked down her cheeks, her wand held out defensively in front of her, the slight shimmer of a shield surrounding her.

" _Me?!_ What about _you_ , you man-hungry whore? Who were you sending that Patronus to? And since when have you _ever_ even noticed Ron, let alone liked him?"

At that, Ron finally looked up from his drink, his face paling under his freckles and flaming hair. "Fucking hell," he breathed.

"What's going on, Ron? Why would Lavender say that?" Harry demanded warily, reaching out for his wife to pull her protectively into his side as she and the other ladies converged with their male counterparts to watch the scene in front of them play on.

Ginny's eyes were large with worry. She was nervously biting at her lower lip, and kept casting anxious glances between her next oldest brother and the two witches squaring off in the middle of the dining area.

Ron stood quickly, making to dart over to break up the fight, but Ginny's free arm shot out and stopped him. "Are you sure that's wise?" she asked quietly, which only served to raise the confusion between the rest of their combined parties, most notably her own husband.

Ron shrugged off her arm and her question with a quick, "Don't have much choice now, do I?"

With that cryptic remark, he was off, slipping easily through the gathered crowd, using his height and considerable strength to muscle his way through on the few occasions he did meet resistance. Quite quickly, Ron reached Lavender's side, the crowd congealing together again in the wake of his passage. He approached his fiancée cautiously, hands up in a sign of submission, and they began talking earnestly, but quietly. It was impossible to understand them after the utter bedlam that had just taken place, and the combined speculative whispers and murmurs rolling off of those gathered.

Hermione turned on Ginny as soon as she realized he was well and truly gone, "What the hell do you know about all this, Ginevra Potter?" she demanded.

Ginny opened her mouth to answer, face full of chagrin, but before she had uttered a word, the whole pub found out the cause of the fight.

" _WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ONCE PROPOSED TO_ HER _?!_ " Lavender roared, her face the same color as her name, glasses and bottles cracking and popping around the room as she let loose a burst of emotionally-charged accidental magic.

The room grew deathly quiet, as if everyone had stopped breathing all at once.

Pansy looked horrified, paler than she'd ever been, knuckles bone-white as she continued to grip her wand defensively. Ron looked stony but determined, his mouth screwed up in a grimace.

"Pansy and I dated for two years after Hermione and I broke up," Ron started, his voice filling the pub from floor to ceiling. Hermione was sure shock was the only thing keeping Lavender quiet as Ron continued his tale.

"It started off as a drunken one night stand, but then it turned into us seeking each other out when we needed a good shag, and before either of us knew it, we had begun being friendly towards each other, sharing everything between us. After two months I asked her to be my girlfriend, officially. She said yes, but we both decided to keep things secret; it wasn't that long after the war, after all, and people were still being massive gits about the whole thing to anyone with even a distant connection to the losing side; and we didn't really feel comfortable putting ourselves out there that much at the time." He paused to take a shuddering breath, steeling himself for what was to come next.

"Those two years were the happiest of my life. I hated keeping things quiet, but I was so sure everyone would hate me - hate us - if we came forward. But I knew I had to say something soon, because I had a ring I'd been hiding for a good few months, and was preparing to propose. One night, she found where I'd stupidly hidden the ring. I didn't see any reason to wait any longer, so I asked her to marry me, just like that," Ron and Pansy locked eyes, derisive blue meeting hurt brown.

"I'll never forget how I felt like the world had ended when she said no and stormed out of my flat," he sneered, jaw clenching around his words as he ground them out.

Lavender's hands flew petulantly over her ears, as if she could stop the words from being true if she could just _not_ hear them. Angry tears poured down her face, and she sliced her wand through the air, training it on the witch across from her. Ron quickly stepped between them, using his body to block access to Pansy.

"Move, Ronald!" Lavender screeched.

Ron just shook his head. "I understand if you're mad at me for not telling you sooner, but it wasn't just my secret to keep. If I had told you and things went sour, it could have meant trouble for Pansy as well. Don't take it out on her."

"No! I refuse to believe this. If you're really telling the truth, _someone_ would have known about you two. And _no one_ does, do they?" Lavender crowed triumphantly, as if she had somehow poked a hole in what could only be a weak joke.

Hermione could _hear_ Ginny gulp as Ron and Pansy's eyes slid over to her of their own volition.

Lavender spun around quickly, her head whipping back and forth as she attempted to see just who they were both focused on. She froze when she caught sight of her very uncomfortable looking future sister-in-law. Ginny could be heard muttering something along the lines of, "Morgana's fucking perky tits…"

"Ginny, tell me this isn't true. Tell me this is some sort of horrible, tasteless prank that Fred and George planned," she commanded.

Harry squeezed his wife's hand in support, which contrasted perfectly with the disbelief and betrayal on his face, and Ginny took the plunge.

"They're telling the truth. I caught them together once at Ron's flat when they forgot to close off the Floo."

Lavender looked like she was going into shock; she was shaking, her wand waving wildly in her jittering hand.

"Lavender, just calm down."

"How can you stand there and say that to me, Ronald?! Our whole relationship is built on a _lie_! Were you two still together when you got with me?"

Ron was mad now, "Of course I wasn't still with her! What kind of man do you take me for?"

"Oh, so I was the rebound?"

"No!" Ron bellowed. "We'd been apart for eight months when I got with you! I'd gone out a few times in that span, but you _were_ the first serious relationship after the fact," he begrudgingly admitted.

Lavender scoffed dismissively. "I don't care! How could you have kept it from me that you had almost married someone else?"

"He didn't almost marry me, you daft bint!" Pansy sneered, "He _wanted_ to. I said _no_. We had a fight. I broke up with him. That's it. _The end_."

"As if I'd believe anything _you_ say, you viper," Lavender spat.

Pansy drew herself up to her full, though diminutive, height. "It doesn't matter if you believe me or not. That's the truth, and you can go choke on it." Lavender and a few of the onlookers gasped at her declaration.

With her piece done, Pansy turned her nose up and made to leave, heading towards the bar to gather up her coat, which was still hanging innocently over the back of her bar stool.

A fire lit in the blonde's eyes as Pansy passed by her, and before the defenseless woman could react, Lavender had shot a spell her way, only for it to be blocked bodily and with a spell by an irate Ron.

"DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO HARM HER!" he roared, eyes glinting, and face as red as his hair as he squared off against his fiancée.

Lavender looked completely cowed by his actions. She stood, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, for a moment, and then whispered, "So that's how it is, is it? You're putting _her_ before me?"

Ron blanched, but held firm. "No, but I will put myself between your wand and her unprotected back."

Just then, there was a commotion from the front doors, and Hermione could hear the clack of familiar stiletto heels on tile, as well as an influx of other various kinds of footwear.

"Oh no, the paparazzi's here!" Hermione began delegating tasks to everyone, "Luna, run and grab our purses and my jacket, please! Fred, George, you two slow them down so we can get to Ron."

Everyone was so busy scrambling to get away from the reporters that they didn't hear Lavender's parting, "We're done," aside from Ron and Pansy, who were closest.

"Come on, Ron! We have to go!" Harry shouted over the sudden din.

Ron just shook his head, his eyes never leaving Pansy's. "You go ahead, Harry, I'll take care of myself. You just get my sister out of here."

Harry, who was still a favorite with the paparazzi, didn't bother arguing. Instead, he grabbed his wife around the waist and pulled her bodily from the building.

There was a mad rush of Weasleys and other members of the wedding party as they fled the scene. Hermione lost track of everyone as they all dashed through the quickly dispersing crowd - it seemed no one wanted to be accosted by the ravenous press. When she made it outside, Hermione saw Luna calmly waiting for her, holding her purse and jacket.

"Come on, Luna," Hermione gasped out, taking her friend's hand and Apparating them out of the alley.

 **oOoOoOo**

As soon as she was home, Hermione went into the other room and sent off an urgent Patronus while Luna let herself out via the open Floo after talking to the kneazles for a moment.

Half an hour after her Patronus left her flat, Hermione was sitting on her couch, sipping at a mug of cocoa, when there was a chime in her Floo, indicating the arrival of the person she'd been impatiently waiting for.

"Took you long enough, Rita."

The waspish woman looked far from her normal, carefully coiffed perfection; she was wearing sleep rumpled robes and her glasses were crooked on her face.

"Well, you did call for me at 3 am." She snipped.

Hermione blew gently on her cocoa, ignoring the outburst. "Nice try, Rita dear. I know for a fact that you were at The Horny Toad. I also know that you know _exactly_ why I've called you here, so why don't we stop with this game. And don't try to play stupid with me; it's very unbecoming."

Rita paled, her eyes wide behind her bejeweled spectacles.

"Ron, Pansy, and Lavender are going to be on the front page, aren't they?"

The journalist nodded once.

"That simply won't do, Rita. I need you to stop this."

Rita was gobsmacked. "You've lost the plot! How am I supposed to stop them from reporting on this?! You know _I_ won't, no matter what. I learned my lesson the second time!" She was beginning to panic, at this point, "I really don't hold sway over the others like you think I do. Please don't put me in the jar again!" Rita's voice quivered with fear and anxiety as she spoke, almost reverently, begging for mercy.

"Rita, _dear_ , you and I both know that _this_ story is _nowhere near_ as scandalous as the one that will happen when I let it slip that you're an unregistered animagus. Oh! Or there's the added tidbit about how you use - Pardon me, that should be _used_ , shouldn't it? It is still used, isn't it? Past tense. Or have you slipped up recently? Never mind, it doesn't _really_ matter, does it? At least, it won't in the eyes of the Wizengamot. Now, where were we? Ah, yes! How you used your illicit talent to get the inside scoop on oh so many celebrities and public figures. Those articles always did cast a bad light, didn't they? That's what you get when you use a Quick-Quotes Quill, I imagine. Anywho," Hermione waved a hand as if to brush the matter off as inconsequential, "You either make this go away, or I make you go away - for five to 10 years. Seven, maybe, if you're on your best behavior, and if the Wizengamot grants you the option of parole. But, come now, we both know you don't know how an honest lady comports herself, so I can't even begin to see how they would be lenient on you. After all, you're _very_ good at your job." She finished with a shit-eating grin, and a hefty, double-edged wink.

Rita glowered.

"Fine," she spat, "I'll see if there are any favors I can call in."

Hermione grinned triumphantly and sipped at her cocoa as the awful slag of a witch vanished in a flash of green flames.

 **oOoOoOo**

Saturday started calmly enough, despite the fact that Hermione'd received a very late - or was it early? - Patronus from Ron, stating that he and Lavender had split the night before. She was able to eat breakfast in peace before she was interrupted by the chime of the Floo, and a frantic, soot-covered Harry spilling out over her hearthrug.

"'Mione, we need you at the Burrow. _Now_. Whole family meeting happening in fifteen."

Hermione frowned, "I'm not family, Harry. Did you forget again?" _It wouldn't be the first time..._

Her best friend leveled a look at her at that. "Don't even try to deny that you've been dating Fred for the past month - Ginny told me. Can't say I'm happy about how I found out, but now I know you were at least skipping out on our usual Ministry lunch dates for someone worthwhile."

Hermione's coffee mug slipped out of her hands, and dropped to the ground. She was so shocked she didn't even notice as the shards and dregs spread out across her wood floor.

"Ron needs you, 'Mione! I need you. Hell, I think even _Molly_ needs you right now. We've got a wedding to prepare for!"

"Who the bloody hell's getting married?" she queried, brow furrowing as she tried to wrap her head around what was being said, as her mind was still on the fact that her little secret was out.

"Ron and Pansy! Now come on, 'Mione, and move!"

 **oOoOoOo**

Hermione sighed happily, sipping at her English Breakfast, her legs thrown over the arm of her favorite wingback armchair, a book in hand.

It was Monday, and, despite it being a work day, she had no intention of doing any work; her weekend had been quite hectic enough, thank you very much, and she figured she deserved a nice lie in. Kingsley wouldn't mind, she knew, as he more than understood the ordeal she'd been through, having been there to witness it for himself.

Saturday had been positively barmy...

She had arrived to find a scene of utter chaos laid out before her: Molly was sobbing as she rushed about the kitchen, muttering about how her boy had lost his ever-loving mind; Arthur and the oldest three boys were outside, hastily constructing the marquis that had been used for all the Weasley weddings that had taken place thus far; Ginny was chatting with and serving tea to a shell-shocked, but smiling, Pansy; Fred and George were over in a corner, talking quietly with Ron, all three of them wearing very serious expressions on their faces as they attempted to work something out.

When Ron noticed Harry and Hermione standing on the hearth, he rushed over to them and dragged them back to where he and the twins had been conversing. Hermione only caught the odd word that passed hurriedly through his lips, but from what she did understand, she gathered that he and the twins were trying to reconfigure the wedding invitations: sending out new ones to people who were on a list that had been hastily made by Pansy, and alerting those who had been invited by Lavender that she was no longer going to be getting married, and their presence was unwelcome.

"What if some of them show up?" George asked. "They could make a right circus out of the ceremony if they put up a fuss."

"What if you ward things so that it doesn't allow entrance to anyone in possession of one of the old invitations? Simply send out all new ones for everyone? We can charm them as Portkeys or have them specifically keyed into the wards, that way you can only arrive on the property if you have one. Think that would fix your dilemma?"

Both twins were grinning massively, and Ron and Harry looked dumbfounded.

"You can do that?" Pansy asked from across the sitting room, having overheard the discussion.

"Of course," Hermione shrugged, "It's not too horribly complex, but it will take a fair bit of time."

"Knew I liked you for a reason. With a witch that amazing, a bloke'd be stupid not to marry you as quickly as possible, if not just to get you off the market." Fred joked, winking down at her suggestively. Hermione blushed clear up to her hair at his declaration, especially when Molly dropped something that sounded rather heavy, and came flying out of the kitchen, covered in bits of flour and cocoa.

"What? _What?!_ You two are seeing each other? And you didn't tell me?!" she shrieked, cheeks flushed with excitement, and a spark in her eye that Hermione had learned the hard way meant only one thing: she was plotting another Weasley wedding.

"Relax, woman, we've only been dating for a month! Don't start in on us now," Fred admonished, wrapping himself protectively around Hermione as if he could bodily shield her from the scheming his mother was obviously doing right before their very eyes. Despite his words, he was clearly chuffed that his mother approved, as he couldn't help grinning widely, causing his mirth-filled eyes to crinkle around the corners.

After that, things fell into the amicable ease that had developed over years of working and living together, and soon enough everything was as ready as it could be for the ceremony taking place the next day; especially considering the circumstances.

Hermione had worked with Ginny and Pansy to drum up a new bridal party, as Susan and the Patil twins had backed out of the ceremony when Lavender did. That was swiftly brought to rights after a quick fire call to each of Pansy's best friends: Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bullstrode.

"Now we're just one short." Hermione said as she checked over the lineup for the wedding party for the second time. "I guess Daphne could just be escorted by both twins. I mean, that would work, right?" She was too busy trying to solve the issue at hand to notice the pointed look that passed between Ginny and Pansy.

"Actually," Pansy began, after clearing her throat, "I was hoping that _you_ , Hermione, would be my last bridesmaid. You've done so much for Ron and me today, and have been an integral part of his life since he was eleven. I couldn't imagine our ceremony being right without you in it."

As Pansy finished, silence descended upon the sitting room, until it was broken by a choked sob from the armchair in the corner, where Molly had been sitting with her feet propped up, resting after finishing the cake.

"Oh, Mum," Ginny sighed, hopping up from her seat on the floor to go comfort her emotionally-overtaxed mother, "Don't cry."

Hermione was floored. She found all she could do was nod her head and mutter out an "Okay," which caused everyone in the vicinity to let out a cheer.

"Oi," Harry hissed, "Not so loud! You'll wake the kids."

A loud wail issued from upstairs, followed by a crash and a giggle.

"Nevermind." Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping.

Hours later, everyone gathered together in the back garden under an old, gnarled oak to eat a late, yet delicious dinner together. Toasts were made, roasts were given (mostly by the twins), and a good time was had by all.

Just before Molly served pudding, there was a viral case of yawning that went around the table, catching almost everyone. Little James and Teddy were both asleep already - one at his plate, fork still in hand, and the other on his father's shoulder, snoring softly while his nan played with his hair. After the dessert plates were empty, they checked the time and collectively decided to retire early - or earlier than was normal for a Weasley shindig - as they would all need their rest before the next day, when all the last minute touches would need to be done.

Goodbyes were fleeting, as everyone knew they would be seeing each other in a short few hours, if not sooner, as most of the family was staying at the main house.

"Fred, just where do you think you're off to?" Molly called, brow furrowed in confusion as her son went to follow their guests into the Floo.

Fred stopped, one foot already in the fireplace. "Secret's out, Mum. No reason to stay around until you're asleep, is there?"

Fred swiftly entered the Floo and shouted out his destination as Molly began squawking indignantly, and the rest of the family roared with laughter. Even Arthur had a quiet chuckle, although he was careful to stop when Molly looked his way.

Hermione and Fred wasted no time, falling into bed as soon as they got to her flat, both drifting off to sleep easily in each other's arms.

Hermione awoke the next morning to the smell of frying bacon and freshly brewed coffee. "Morning, luv," Fred said quietly, pecking her on the forehead as he placed a steaming mug on the bedside table. "I know you're going to be busy today, so I figured I should start things off with an offering of caffeine."

Hermione grinned impishly at her boyfriend. "I can think of a few other things we could start with instead…"

Soon enough, Hermione and Fred were back at the Burrow, and after that, it was a blur of food, tables, floral arrangements, bobby pins, champagne, and ivory lace.

Which was why Hermione found herself utterly knackered come Monday, and had taken it upon herself to declare the day to be one of rest and relaxation. She certainly felt she had earned it. And according to the front page of the Daily Prophet, which had been delivered by owl earlier that morning, Rita Skeeter seemed to think she had, too.

She couldn't help but glance again at the article Rita had written. Not a word was mentioned of the scandalous happenings of Friday night, nor of the fact that the position of bride had changed hands the day before the wedding. No, all was glowing praise and best wishes for the happy couple.

There was a picture of the new husband and wife, just as they sealed their vows with a kiss, followed by the caption:

 **War Hero Weds - True Love Conquers All**

Hermione couldn't help but agree as she admired the photo: Ron was sweeping Pansy up in his arms and bowing her over with the force of his joy; Pansy was laughing as she tried in vain to keep her veil in place with one hand and desperately clung to Ron's shoulder with the other, all while giving herself over to the exuberant snog she was receiving from her new husband. They were very much the incarnation of the triumph of true love over evil. Even if the evil was just Lavender Brown.

True, she would have to actually get to know her best friend's wife, but that was okay; she had it on good authority that she would be family, soon, as well. Especially if Molly had something to say about it; and if Hermione had learned anything over the years that she'd spent with the Weasleys, it was that Molly invariably had _something_ to say about _everything_.

"Ron's a married man now, 'Mione; you need to move on. Although, I hear he has a brother or two that're still available," Fred said with a wink, handing her the cup of tea she'd asked him to fetch.

"I know, you're right," Hermione sighed, "I wonder what Charlie's up to tonight?" She mused, innocently blinking up at him as she sipped, trying desperately to fight the smirk that was crawling up her face.

"Why you cheeky, little -" Fred snatched her up out of her seat as she held her mug aloft, the paper sliding down to rest on the floor.

"Watch the tea, Frederick!" She giggled as he carried her off to her bedroom, setting the cup on a table as they passed by.

Yes, she later thought as she lay in bed, she could definitely see another Weasley wedding in the future.

* * *

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	17. Undone

**Quills & Parchment Scandals One Shot Writing Competition**

\- Please respect the author's wishes in regards to reviews. You will find this information at the bottom of each entry. Thank you for reading!

 **Title: Undone**

 **Rating: M**

 **Genre: Drama**

 **Triggers: None**

 **Warnings: Sexual Content**

 **Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the authors represented here are profiting from these stories.

* * *

 **Undone**

* * *

The lift was practically full, but Hermione edged her way inside before the gates closed. One arm was full of rolled parchment, and the other was holding two large coffees with a bagel balanced on top. She had taken care to cast a sticking charm on the lids and bagel in the Atrium before walking onto the lift but couldn't help holding her breath and hoping no one would bump into her. The lift clattered upwards and opened as they reached Level Seven. A few ministry workers got off, and a few more got on, moving her to the back of the lift. The inter-departmental memos zoomed all around the ceiling making the lights flicker, and she adjusted her arm full of parchment, readying herself for her meeting with the Minister.

She had taken the promotion that was offered to her and now was six months into her new position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Working alongside the Minister for Magic was intimidating at first, but, over time, she grew rather fond of her weekly updates with him. They would go over the work she had been pouring hours into, and he would offer advice on how to improve her theories on eradicating pro-pureblood laws. After this, they would share lunch together in the Ministry Munchies cafe and go on about their business. It was a pleasant working relationship, and with Kingsley's guidance, she was making great strides in accomplishing her goals.

If she was honest with herself, she had been harboring a crush of sorts for the man since her early twenties when she came to work at the Ministry. The way he commanded the attention of everyone around him without saying anything at all, and the way he held himself in a crowd was both mesmerizing and breathtaking. During their meetings he gave such attention to her words, and that, in itself, was enough to make her giddy. She knew she wasn't the only woman in the Ministry that felt the tiny tingles when the Minister was present. She often heard the giggles of the younger witches as he passed by, and occasionally she heard the crude, however accurate, remarks of the married and older generation of women huddled around each other's desks as they shared gossip. She wasn't the only one who wondered exactly what form he took under his robes.

The gates opened, and the familiar voice echoed in her ears, "Level One - Minister for Magic and Support Staff." She stepped out and took in the familiar surroundings. The carpet was a rich purple and so thick she often wondered what it would be like to pad down the hallway in bare feet; she imagined it would be so soft and squishy. The walls were wrapped in a cream wallpaper, with candles sporadically placed down the hall. The windows displayed a dark and rainy day, causing the hallway to be darker than normal as the flickering candles supplied the only light. Kingsley had mentioned to her that the Magical Maintenance Department had been volleying for a pay raise, and when they were denied, they in turn made the days as miserable as possible using the magically enchanted windows.

She made her way down the hallway, passing the massive mahogany doors of the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Mary Stone, and the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, Seth Pieper. Approaching the door at the end of the hallway, she stopped and took a deep breath before knocking firmly above the golden plaque labeled, _Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic._

A deep voice spoke from the other side of the door, "Come in, Ms. Granger."

Hermione shook herself as her stomach flipped and the hint of a blush began to crawl up her flesh. She whispered a quick wandless cooling charm and proceeded into the room. He was sitting at his desk, head bent over a parchment as he read its contents. Kingsley's office was a practical space with a mahogany desk and two comfortable chairs sitting in front of it. Knowing that he spent so much time here in his office, it also housed a large, comfortable looking couch alongside the wall and a fully stocked bar.

His office was the only one in the Ministry that had a fireplace, ready to Floo anywhere at a moment's notice. On his mantle were a few golden plaques and a large mirror that Hermione assumed was used for more than just checking his appearance. A Pensieve sat in the corner of the room, and along the west wall, a hundred books were tucked neatly against each other. On the other walls housed many portraits of Ministers before him, including one Pius Thicknesse, who was presently scowling down at Hermione as if there was something foul smelling in the room.

"Sir, if I may be so bold," she hesitated waiting for him to give her permission to continue. When he looked up and nodded she finished, "Why is Pius Thicknesse even on this wall? He wasn't a true Minister for Magic having been under the Imperius curse and appointed by Voldemort."

Kingsley smiled warmly at Hermione, his dark chestnut eyes twinkling. "That's a question I have answered many times. It is simple, he is a reminder of what can happen when we let darkness prevail, whether in the form of pride or apparent evil." She noticed he nodded to Cornelius Fudge's portrait as he spoke, the portrait ignoring the conversation with apparent intent.

Hermione pondered for a moment the response that Kingsley had given her but understood his meaning plainly. Darkness is spread in many ways, and some are not as noticeable as others. Wounds can cut deep, and each action is a stepping stone to another. Our actions and our reactions to others, lead us to our own destiny. It is an important reminder to remain humble on all accounts.

Hermione noticed Kingsley's eyes lingering on her face, no doubt awaiting her next question, but she chose to forego any further conversation. She was excited to present him with her latest research and highly anticipated his response.

Hermione walked to his desk and placed the coffees on it before grabbing her wand and removing the sticking charm on the bagel and lids. "Alright, I have your coffee - a bit of cream, no sugar - and your toasted, plain bagel. I've made quite a bit of headway since our last meeting, so I'll get started."

 **oOoOoOo**

Kingsley chuckled, reaching for his coffee and bagel, sitting back in his chair. He hated to admit just how much he enjoyed watching Hermione pour over her work in her retelling of all she had done. The woman worked tirelessly to find the ins and outs to each pureblood law and then meticulously picked it apart for her own uses, improving the Wizarding population. She was smart and brave, and above all, _bold_. Her visits were the highlight of his week, and he looked forward to them. The past month she had started bringing him coffee and bagels, and the simple gesture was welcoming. Ten years after the war, and Hermione had been steadily making strides in advancing in the Ministry. When she approached him for his opinion on a law she was looking to have retracted, he graciously offered his support, and from then on, they had began their weekly visits.

Kingsley found himself beginning to notice the way her eyes lit up when she spoke enthusiastically about her projects. Many people didn't hold that same passion, and it was rather intoxicating. At first, he was ashamed at his inner thoughts for the younger woman, but as time went on, he found himself diving straight into them with pleasure.

 _Walking over to her chair, he gently took the parchment from her hands. Without letting go of her fingers, he pulled up so she was standing. She looked up at him in confusion, her golden irises softening into a dusky caramel as she lost herself in his gaze. Pulling her close, he felt himself begin to harden. She looked at him with a yearning, and he used the moment to lean down to taste her lips. She sighed, letting him capture her lips with his own and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. The kiss was gentle at first but became more when he used his tongue to taste her honey flavored lips._

 _She opened her mouth eagerly, each exploring the other as they went. Her hands found their way down his chest, as she expertly undid the clasp that held his robes together and pushed the heavy material off his shoulders. Kingsley let out a groan as her ivory hands found his skin, a rippling of goosebumps travelling over his body. She broke the kiss, and began to explore his skin with her mouth. Kissing, licking and nipping her way past his neck and shoulders down to his chest. The feeling of her tongue as it swiped over his nipple was enough to make the pressure against his trousers almost unbearable. He ran his hands down her arms and back up over her chest, bringing the hem of her blouse over her head. Her nipples stood hard under her thin, satin bra, and he longed to feel them in his mouth. He pulled her hard to his chest and captured her face in his hands, guiding her mouth to his once more as he ran his hands over her soft skin. This kiss was mounting to more, and he felt his hardness rub against her belly, aching for friction. As if she understood his pain, she pushed against it before pulling away with a gasp. She looked up at him, need strong in her eyes and knelt down to relieve his discomfort._

He was interrupted from his thoughts when Hermione asked for a second time, "Minister, did you hear what I said?"

Only mildly ashamed, he wiped a hand across his brow and took a drink of coffee before replying, "I'm sorry, Ms. Granger. I must have drifted off to other pressing matters. Can you go on? I am here for your listening pleasure."

Hermione released her teeth from her bottom lip, smiled, and continued on.

 **oOoOoOo**

Hermione could tell that the Minister had other things on his mind. His eyes would glaze over every now and again, and he wandered in front of the stormy windows, pacing. The weather magically displayed in the windows by the Magical Maintenance Department gradually worsened over the two hours Hermione was in the office. The flashes of lightning were followed by claps of thunder that rattled the panes and echoed in the office; even the wind seemed to be howling as it leaked in through sides of the glass.

"Wow, seems like Maintenance isn't letting up soon. I don't think I've ever _heard_ the storms they charmed on the windows," Hermione voiced.

She watched as Kingsley turned to face her. His eyes were dark as always, but there was something else there she couldn't quite place. He smiled at her, making her stomach shift as if fairies were dancing inside of it. "You know, I do believe this is the first time I have witnessed this as well."

At that moment, his door was flung open to reveal Mary Stone, Senior Undersecretary. "Kingsley, the Maintenance staff have lost control of their tantrum with the weather. They can't stop the storm, and it's getting worse. Many windows are being broken, and offices are filled with high winds, thunder, lightning, and hail."

"No need to fret, my dear. Grab Seth and head down to Level Three and gather up the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. They'll right this in no time. Do hurry though."

Mary turned on her heel, and with a nod to Hermione she left the room. Hermione couldn't help but notice how effortlessly Kingsley took charge of the situation. His calm and deep voice reverberating over the thunder made her want him to talk to her in that way - direct and commanding, but gentle and kind in turn. She shook her head of that thought as the impending redness crawled up her cheeks, surely to be noticed by the Minister. Her face flamed uncontrollably, and she looked away from him in embarrassment, gathering up her parchment from his desk.

"I'm sure I have taken up enough of your time Minister. I will let you attend to your business."

"Just wait, Hermione. It sounds as if the rest of the floors will be a mess. Once they have cleaned up, we can head down to lunch like usual."

Hermione felt a sudden thrill run through her, making her heart race. The Minister didn't frequently address her by her first name, but when he did, a warmth spread through her that she quite liked. The smile that graced her face was uncontrollable, and she cast her eyes down in order to hide her chagrin.

She was saved from him noticing her flushed face as a flash of lightning crossed the windows, illuminating the room. They were thrown suddenly into darkness as a thunderous boom erupted around the office, promptly extinguishing the lights. Before her wand was in her hand, Kingsley had lit his. She lit her own wand and followed him wordlessly to the door. Kingsley opened the door to note that the hallway was pitch black too. At least the wind had stopped howling, she noticed; however, the thunder and lightning had stopped too, along with the magically lit candles that provided the light in the hallways of the Ministry.

They walked soundlessly down the hall and towards the lift. When Kingsley pushed the button for the gates to open, nothing happened. He raised his wand, ready to conjure a Patronus, when a silver goose came flying up to them.

Mary's voice came from the goose, irritated, but firm, "Kingsley, we have stopped the storms, however, someone has unintentionally blocked most forms of lingering magic. We're working on it, but everyone is stuck where they are right now. The lifts are down, the wards are up, and the lights are out. I'm sure everything will be sorted out by the end of the day."

Hermione watched as Kingsley's form relaxed and he turned back towards her. "Well, Ms. Granger, it looks like you and I are in the accompaniment of each other for the rest of the day. May I get you some tea?"

 **oOoOoOo**

The first hour was shared in passing pleasantries over work affairs. They sipped on tea and shared a light lunch of tinned ginger biscuits. Conversation was easy, and before long, Kingsley had Hermione rolling in laughter at stories from his earlier days at Hogwarts; one in particular where he regaled a story of when he was a seventh year student and had to rescue a scared first year boy from the Giant Squid who turned out to be Bill Weasley.

She never imagined simple conversation would be so easy with Kingsley, but she relished in the way he was so attentive; his eyes warm and always on hers, his lips turning up into a smile with each story he told. This was a different Kingsley, and she found herself meeting his gaze and letting it linger a bit longer than she would have normally.

They sat together on the couch, the candles flickering around the room that they had lit earlier. Midday had come and gone, and she was hungry. Just as the thought crossed her mind, her stomach betrayed her, growling loudly.

Kingsley laughed and stood, heading to the bar. He pulled out two glasses and reached under the bar, pulling from its depths a clear bottle full of what she assumed was spirits. Coming back to her side, he held out the glass. "It won't fill you up, but it will take the hunger away," he said before returning to the bar to fill his own glass with the amber liquid.

Hermione sniffed at the contents of her glass. It's not that she didn't like firewhisky, but the burn on the way down just didn't seem worth it. She normally stuck with elf-made wine when she drank at all. She tipped the contents up and down her throat. It was hot and burned the back of her throat, but the fire was extinguished promptly to be left with a pleasant tingling sensation that flowed from her throat, down her esophagus, and settled warmly in her belly. The pangs of hunger were immediately quenched, and she looked up to see Kingsley watching her intently.

"I've never had firewhisky like that. What is it?"

"It's my own blend actually. I was never fond of the sensation Ogden's Finest provided, so I began to make my own, smoother blend. This particular batch has been sitting for ten years just waiting for the right opportunity to be used." He held her eyes, and her heart beat furiously noticing the depth of his gaze.

"Yes, I think I would like one more, if you don't mind sharing." Hermione held her glass to him, and he poured a tiny amount into the tumbler. She swirled the contents around the glass, enjoying watching the yellows, golds, and reds mix together. The second glass went down easier than the first, and the warmth that started in her belly grew, enveloping her other organs, muscles, and bones. She felt perfectly aware, but the hunger was gone, and her body was humming pleasantly.

Feeling the need to get up and move, she wandered over to the bookshelf and began taking in the many tomes that it held. The office was dimly lit, but the dancing flames created enough light to read the titles. She ran the tips of her fingers over the spines and relished in the delightful feel of them on her skin. She turned back to face Kingsley and found him standing next to the bar watching her. The look in his eyes held a different meaning right now; she realized that the look was causing a warmth in her belly to grow that was very different than the one the firewhisky gave her. At that moment, she accepted that she wanted nothing more than for him to come take her, right here in his office.

Kingsley set his glass on the bar and took three long strides towards Hermione. He was close to her, but not touching her. Suddenly, he tangled his hands in her hair, pulling her face to his as he pressed his mouth firmly against her lips. She shivered in his arms, and he released her, meeting her eyes. "Hermione," his deep voice whispered, making a ripple of goosebumps erupt over her skin. "I saw it just now. Your eyes betray you. You desire me, don't you?" She hesitated and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. He watched the lust pool in her eyes and leaned close to her ear. "If I'm going to do that again, I need to hear you say it. I need to hear you tell me that you want me."

Hermione let her head fall back a bit to meet his eyes. The depths of his dark irises went on and on. She found herself attempting to search his for what he found in hers, and she involuntarily took a step forward, placing her hands on his chest. As she pressed against his muscled form, she saw it; the darkness melted away like cooling lava. It was beautiful, and she couldn't help but whisper the truth back. "Yes, I desire you."

Kingsley didn't wait an extra second. He'd been waiting for this moment for months, and while he would never pursue the woman without her consent, he was a man who knew when to take an opportunity when it presented itself. All thoughts of his reputation and responsibility of being Minister for Magic was thrown out. All hesitation of what could happen by reacting to his wildest instincts were smoothed away by this beautiful woman in front of him who wanted him so plainly.

He reached out and barely touched the outside of her wrist that still lingered on his chest. He continued to move the tips of his fingers up her bare arm, before placing his palm fully on her cheek. She pressed her face against his hand and closed her eyes, inhaling his scent, before placing her palm over his hand and turning her face to place a kiss to the inside of his palm.

Kingsley responded by using his other hand and reaching behind her to pull her flush against him. The hand holding her face tilted it up farther as he lowered his face to hers. Only a breath away. He could smell the ginger biscuits and firewhisky on her breath, mingling with the vanilla-lavender scent in her hair in a heavenly way. Daring himself to go slow, he reached out the tip of his tongue and ran it lightly over her bottom lip. She responded with an airy release of breath that made the effort to not drive his tongue deep in her mouth all that much harder. Kissing the side of her mouth and down her jaw, he felt her breath quicken.

Continuing down her neck, he licked and nipped before beginning to suckle on the apex of her shoulder. She shivered in his arms, and he felt her heartbeat race. She was so responsive, and it was driving him mad, but he continued his administrations over her flushed skin. He didn't realize that she had removed his robe and had began to unbutton his shirt underneath until he was standing in front of her, chest bare for her approval.

Hermione stared at the man who had just pulled back from her. She had removed his robes and shirt and now was graced with a man who took great pride in staying fit. He was tall, and his muscles were lean, but the curves of his chest and rippled stomach showed through the trimmed hair. She met his eyes and held them, while reaching up and beginning to unbutton her own blouse. She took her time, watching his eyes as they followed her fingers. When her blouse was open, he reached out, pushing it off her shoulders, and dropping it to the floor. The silky camisole she wore under her blouse was displayed for him and she noticed the way he sought her hardened nipples as he ran his tongue over his lips.

She took in the sight of this man, his skin as dark as coffee beans, and her milky white hands splayed on his chest made the perfect contrast. Running her hands over his chest and shoulders, she pulled him to her until her breasts were flush against his chest. When his mouth found hers, she parted her lips, letting their tongues dance together. She could feel his hardness press against her and another round of shivers ran over her flesh.

Hermione ran her nails gently down his back, eliciting a new sensation over Kingsley's skin. When she slipped her hands under the hem of his trousers to grab his arse, he hoisted her and carried her over to the couch without ever breaking contact with her lips. He set her gently down and knelt between her legs on the floor, pushing her back to lean against the cushions, passion and lust flushing her face. One hand wandered down her neck, over her heaving breasts, and across her pale, flat stomach, while the other hand was freeing her of her skirt and knickers; they were off within seconds.

Her ivory skin shone in the dancing of the flickering candle light. He didn't think he had ever seen such a lovely sight in all of his life.

When his fingers met her mound, she let out a moan that would have taken him over the edge if he hadn't been trapped inside his trousers still. He continued to palm her nub, making the mewling grow louder and louder. Reaching up with his other hand, he relieved her breast from the camisole and pinched her nipple making it stand tall. He couldn't wait another second and leaned down to grasp the nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue over the sensitive bud and sucking on it deeply. His fingers moved farther down, finding her hot and wet, ready for more. Inserting two fingers inside her, he pumped gently in and out while still lapping against her aching breast. She shamelessly ground her hips against his palm all while holding his head firmly against her chest.

To Hermione's extreme displeasure, Kingsley removed his hand and his mouth from her. She looked up through hooded eyes to seem him watching her again, this time the look of arousal was plain as day on his dark features. He stood, removed his trousers, and she noticed with extreme anticipation that he was more than ready to continue. His length was hard, and she yearned to have it buried inside of her, filling her fully until she couldn't hold back any more. He knelt back down, pulling her bare hips closer to the edge of her seat and placing the tip of his hardness against her dripping opening. He waited there until she met his eyes and then he plunged himself deep inside her in one thrust. She let out a gasp at the intrusive, yet extremely pleasureable feeling. He stayed unmoving, fully inside her. She attempted to rock her hips, yearning for him to move, but he dug his fingers into her arse and held her still. Finally, he lowered his face to hers and kissed her gently on the lips, then flicking his tongue out to lick her jawline, and his hand finding her nipple again.

Hermione arched her neck back, giving him free range of all of her body and he took advantage of it. He began to rock back and forth inside of her, while licking and biting down on her neck, across her breast bone, and at each nipple. The warmth in her belly grew hotter and hotter, and she could feel her release coming all too soon. He buried himself inside her at a rhythmic pace which had her breathless cries growing louder and louder. Kingsley grabbed both of her wrists and held them firmly above her head, while never losing momentum. He leaned down and whispered, "Show me what you look like when you come undone, Hermione."

That was all it took; she lost all control and let the rush of the tide carry her away. He felt the flutters of her release and watched as her eyes closed, and her mouth opened in a most beautiful "O" shape as he listened to her cry out loud in her ecstasy. He followed over the edge after her, pumping harder and faster until he lost himself in the intensity of her climax.

Kingsley let out a throaty growl before dropping his heavy chest half way on top of her and half way on the couch. They worked to catch their breath, and soon Kingsley lifted himself from the floor, as she adjusted her seat on the couch. Her skin was flushed, and her body felt like a flobberworm. She had never experienced anything quite like that before. Kingsley sat next to her on the couch, still breathing somewhat heavy. She rolled her head to the side to look at him, and he met her eyes with a smile on his face.

"Well, today sure has had a couple of unexpected turns happen," Kingsley said, rising from his seat and offering a hand to her.

She giggled and reached up, letting him pull her to him. He kissed her soundly on the mouth, running his hands over her sensitive skin. Pulling away and holding her face to meet his eyes he said matter of factly, "You know, we can't tell anyone about this. Both of our reputations will be tainted. If the press got wind of this, it would be quite the scandal in the Wizarding world."

Hermione rested her cheek against his palm and nodded. She didn't care if she had to keep this a secret as long as she got to keep doing it. "I'm good at keeping secrets, Minister." she replied.

The lights flickered suddenly, and the setting sun magically appeared in the windows, bringing a fresh light to the room. A silver goose patronus entered the office to announce, "Kingsley, every thing is corrected. I will be up to explain the whole encounter."

Hermione's eyes grew wide as she realized they were standing in eachothers arms practically naked. A deep chuckle from Kingsley tore her from her fear, and she looked at Kingsley as he waved his wand, their clothes adjusting themselves perfectly in a matter of seconds.

 **oOoOoOo**

Hermione was waiting at the gates of the lift when it opened. Mary and Seth nodded in her direction as they got off and made their way towards the Minister's office door. She stepped on, turned, and noticed Kingsley watching her at his door frame as Mary and Seth had their backs to them seated in the chairs at his desk. He smiled, winked and closed the door as the gates of the lift closed and took her down to the Level Two where she would prepare for next week's meeting with the Minister for Magic.

* * *

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